


Reaching and Wanting to Run

by Beckon



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Disabled Character, Flashbacks, M/M, Minor Angst, Prosthetic Limbs, Romance, Scars, Switchboard, Ticonderoga, railroad, shameless flirting, slight slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2018-07-28 06:58:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 46,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7629886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beckon/pseuds/Beckon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Switchboard occurred in the heart of Spring.</p>
<p>Charmer finds them at the start of Winter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Switchboard occurred in the heart of Spring, when the Commonwealth was once more rolling through its seasons.

When their agents, skilled and heavy in the field, were supposed to come back and gush about the new Radstag yearlings that were bouncing about in the abandoned city streets. When they were supposed to be taking bets on which swollen Radstag doe in the herd would be the next to give birth- and whether or not she would have an anomaly like the year before, and have a yearling born with just one head.

_"It's just not right," Whispers had muttered late one night, coiled close to the door of the donut shop as he lit a fresh cigarette. His eyes were watching the latest Radstag addition kick and hop its way through the street on thin legs. It's single head bouncing in time with its body. "I mean, how's it gonna see it's surroundings?"_

_Drummer Boy chuckled slightly at the odd sense of criticism in the man's voice._

_"You work just fine with one head," Glory reminded, seated in the broken window sill. There was amusement on her face at the rare scene of fun the Radstag herd showed as one of the adult males began kicking and hopping just the same as the yearling. "Besides, it's got the herd to protect it- just like you do."_

_Whispers muttered something under his breath and shook his head- a wry smile caught on the corners of his lips._

But it was winter now; the first snow of the season having fallen about a week before.

There were less agents in the field now, less talk in the tight corridors of the catacombs. Everyone seemed more focused on bundling for warmth, and rubbing their hands together to conserve frozen fingertips. There was no talk about how the Radstag herd had grown larger now, or how they left visible evidence of their presence everywhere they went. No talk about the single-headed yearling who had grown into the tallest of the males- no bragging about how its powerful kick had downed a Yao Guai preying on its kin.

There were a few muttered words of relief that at least the Yao Guais were gone for the winter, that at least the Deathclaws would be few and far between.

Not that the overgrown reptiles were normally an issue for their agents.

The underground catacombs, while far from being as comfortable as Switchboard, had provided them with enough comfort and shelter. It provided them with relief during the swelling summer, and even now it provided some minor insulation during the nightly cold spells. So they couldn't really complain- even if everyone wanted to. They all had an issue with the place, but... safety was safety.

The catacombs kept them hidden, kept them out of sight, so everyone just kept their mouths shut and went on with their business.

...

The cold mornings were the hardest though, and that was when Drummer Boy heavily dealt the trade of safety with the sacrifice of comfort.

The chill brought a swell of pain that felt tight in his back- one that throbbed as he got to his feet, and felt like static when he rubbed his palm over it. Even underneath the layers of his clothing, he could feel the knot of scar tissue that ached and controlled his body.

_"You're lucky to be alive," Carrington had spoken, quietly and not as abrasive as he usually was. His fingers were tedious and steady as they put fresh sutures into his bloodied, bruised back- carefully sewing closed the wound left by an Institute rifle. It had struck close to his hip, and even closer to his spine. "If that Courser had been a foot closer..."_

A foot closer, and the energy shot would've blown right through him- burning organs and tissue as it passed through his back and out his stomach.

But it didn't. The energy shot, as advanced as it was, still had a limitation; it could only travel for so long before it burnt out. And Drummer Boy just managed to catch the tail end of it- catching the shot across his back before the energy dissipated just under a thin layer of muscle.

The pain had been agonizing, and the first couple of hours following the hit had him convinced that it had paralyzed him.

_"Only the Institute would fire upon the retreating."_

Retreating... such an easily acceptable substitute for running away.

But everyone said the same thing about Switchboard- that running away was the smart thing, was the only thing for them to do. It was for the best of the Railroad, for the best of their agents, to survive another day and pick up the pieces when the time was right again.

But Drummer Boy thought back to Switchboard, back to the sound of gunshots and screaming; the two common things that usually kept him awake most nights. He thought of the blood and bodies that fell down around him- of the cries that echoed out behind him as the place came down room by room. Their security systems did little to even slow the Coursers down, but... it had been enough to buy them time, no matter how little.

... All that time running, but it sure as hell didn't feel like survival.

It made him feel like a coward instead.

Fingers rubbed gentle circles over the knotted tissue- now a little numbed down by the false warmth from a shot glass of Bourbon.

_"Better in the back than in the ass," Glory whispered her usual stunted words of comfort as she smoked on a cigarette that she hated; a bad habit she had picked up from Dez. Her hands, steady and firm on a minigun, were shaking in the hold of a thin joint. She'd never admit to it, but one could see the trembling of her fingers as she moved to retrieve the cigarette from her lips. "Could've been like Deacon."_

_He tried not to laugh, knowing it would only bring pain to the numbed portion of his back- but he let out a stammered breath in response. "You know he's lying about it," Drummer Boy whispered in return, trying to remain as still as he could against the thin mattress underneath him._

_"God, I hope he is."_

The pain was just a reminder that he was still alive, and still working- that there was still more for him to do here.

But even the Bourbon couldn't stop him from wishing he had been a foot closer, that it had been a killing shot instead. But the thought crossed him only momentarily before he brushed it aside, and picked up the latest report he needed to study.

And even though it was different, even though it was new... it still detailed the same story over and over again.

They were short on people, they were short on agents; the field was just too big for the amount of people they still had on board. It didn't help that PAM was shooting out more algorithms as of lately- something out in the Commonwealth was stirring up her circuits, and she wasn't liking any of it. With hope it wasn't more Institute activity, but it was hard to be certain.

Drummer Boy could see the annoyance of it all on Glory's face as the woman departed from PAM's room.

"More trouble?" he questioned, although he already knew the answer to it.

"Like you wouldn't believe," Glory answered, short and brisk, restrained on her tongue, as she walked behind him; the back of her hand tapped gently against the back of his ribs as she walked by. "PAM predicts there's something heading our way soon, and she wants us to stay alert. Dez wants us to keep guard out front just in case."

Right.

Drummer Boy sighed and tossed the report aside, before he grabbed his hat from his desk and slipped it back on. He followed Glory up the stairs and out the front to the small entrance to the catacombs- hidden away behind a sealed door. Whoever had put that mechanism in place was smart, and had probably done so to protect the resting dead down here; it was almost a shame that they were able to crack the code and get in anyways.

Guard duty wasn't particularly fun, but they all had to pull their weight- and if PAM was worried about something, than they all had reasons to be worried as well.

There was a deeper chill in the air out front, one that tugged at his scar once more, before he reached for the cigarettes in his jacket pocket. If they were going to be waiting out here for... God knows what, he might as well do something relaxing. Plus Desdemona didn't like them smoking inside of the catacombs- said it clogged up the air since the place lacked proper ventilation.

Pulling out a cigarette, Drummer Boy balanced it on his lips and slid the box back into his pocket- before he felt Glory pluck the joint from his lips and stick it between her own.

"You owe me," he noted, giving an easy sigh of defeat as he fished out a second cigarette without removing the pack again. "You just waste them."

"Do you actually like smoking?" she pressed.

Fingers fumbled for the lighter he kept in the same pocket, before he drew it out next. "No," Drummer Boy answered, as he struck a quick flame before he held it out to light her smoke first. "I don't think anyone does really, but... it's safer than drinking."

Glory made a humming sound from the back of her throat in agreement as she held still while her cigarette caught red. And as soon as the tip kept heat, she leaned in and pressed it to his- lighting his at the same time, and saving on lighter fluid. Matches were easy to come by, but a hassle to deal with; a good lighter though, now that was a commodity.

The woman took in a quick breath as he started to pull away, before she blew a cloud of fresh smoke into his face. He coughed slightly at the action, which soon dissolved into a brisk laugh to match hers, before he dropped the lighter back into his pocket.

"Fuck you, Glory."

She took a second breath and laughed with rolling smoke on her tongue. "It's been a rough morning," she replied, and the tired dullness in her words spoke the easy truth in them.

"That it has been."

There was a pocket of silence as they stood there- both unsure of what they were doing here, unsure of what PAM or Dez even talked about anymore, unsure of what either leader wanted them to do. But they let the faint heat from their cigarettes starve off the cold for as long as it could.

Drawing in another breath of smoke, Drummer Boy paused and held it in his lungs as something caught his attention. Smoke escaped in thin wisps from his lips as he listened in- hearing the faint scattering of footsteps echoing down the corridors outside. Heard the quiet tap of a gun, no doubt getting rid of their feral ghoul neighbors.

"Glory," he whispered, as he dropped his half-finished cigarette to the floor and stubbed it out. "Someone's coming."

"You sure?" Glory knew better than to ask, than to question him- but she did it anyways out of her own need for validation. For her own need to hear him tell her with confidence.

"Too brisk and steady to be a ghoul," Drummer Boy answered, listening intently to the way the steps tracked closer still. "Too coordinated, and heavy on the heels. Could be someone who just managed to pass by, but it's definitely a person."

"I'll get Dez."

* * *

 

No one really knew what PAM talked about half the time, but... nine times out of ten, she had a reason to be believe. She was the best defense they had, the best way to get the upper hand in most situations; they didn't have a choice but to follow her. So when PAM told them of an impending, unknown variable, a rogue- _a threat_ \- they took it close to heart.

Drummer Boy expected a Raider, a Gunner, someone who would come in quiet with guns blazing. After all, if it was an Institute Synth, or Courser, or spy, PAM certainly would've picked them out by now.

But the threat came in the form of a man, less then dressed for the cold weather; a man dressed in little more than jeans and a plaid, button-up shirt with a loose jacket thrown on for added measure. His skin was red from the chilly winds, and the occasional flex of the fingers at his side hinted that they were more than a little cold. He hardly looked to be a threat, but looks were deceiving, and couldn't be trusted.

So when Desdemona motioned for him to stand down and allow the newcomer to approach, Drummer Boy thought the woman had lost her mind. She had gotten them out of Switchboard, gotten them regrouped and settled in again, even got their feet back on the ground, so he knew she wasn't one to make a rash decision.

But this... this seemed like a rash decision.

A man caught in the webs of the Commonwealth, unable to give a straight answer to anyone about anything seemed like a recipe for disaster. It was clear he kept his cards close to his chest; he refused to give any more to a question than what was necessary, but at least he was honest in saying that the unattainable information was classified. He could've lied, and try to play off that he didn't know this, or that he couldn't say for certain why he was here, or what business he had with the Institute.

All he said was that he needed to find his son- and that he needed to be quick.

It was unnerving, and suspicious, but... the bloodied chip in his hand was enough to win the Alpha over. It was enough to win most agents over. Taking down a Courser was a big deal, and within their ranks, Glory was really the only one who had been successful in doing so.

Drummer Boy swallowed hard and lowered his gun- catching eyes with Glory as she reluctantly did the same. If anything, it seemed to put the newcomer to ease for the time being- if only to put them more on edge.

But he had trust in Desdemona, and this guy... didn't seem _that_ bad.

If anything, Glory could easily take him out if things went to shit.

* * *

 

_Charmer_.

A rather... odd moniker for a male agent, but it wasn't like he had any place to stand on it.

Codenames didn't always make sense; they were just there to create a persona, to create a different person within the Railroad. It helped to hide them; it gave them something to hide behind in some cases. It didn't really matter in the long run. Codenames didn't often last long around here anyways- or rather, the person the name was stuck to didn't.

Made no difference what the man chose his name to be. (After all, Deacon had had his fair share of horrible names- just so he could hear Desdemona refer to him by them, much to the woman's dismay).

As long as this guy got the work done, there was no reason to linger on his given name.

Still, Drummer Boy couldn't help but to think of the man though- to think of Charmer. Of how one minute, they held the guy at gunpoint, and the next, he was doing all their unmanned runs for them. He was a temporary, improperly-trained Heavy who could still give Glory a run for her money. And the man did it all without question, without hesitation.

And after the hell they had just gone through with Switchboard, it seemed like a good thing that this man had suddenly fallen into their laps.

Well, he was either a good thing, or a bad omen, either or.

"Drummer Boy."

He didn't need the sound of acknowledgment.

Drummer Boy already knew that Charmer was coming back down the catacombs long before Charmer even knew that he was standing at the bottom of the stairs. Waiting for him, like he always did- like he did with every returning agent.

Charmer was tall with a fitted frame- not overly broad, but there was definitely some kind of training behind his firm physique. He had black hair, long and slick, pulled back and up behind him; a 'ronin' style as Glory had phrased it, and later claimed that she had seen it in an old fashion magazine. It only seemed to push the fact that Charmer was indeed from two-hundred years in the past- after all, not many people kept their hair long anymore. Usually because of the issue of hygiene, but also because it was an easy target to grab in the heat of a fight.

He had a strong jaw- not square, but not too sharply cut either; it balanced well with his visible cheekbones, and visibly broken nose. Blended well with the heavy curve of his throat, which provided an unique profile from any angle.

The man had dark eyes at a distance, but up close and in the right light, one could see the hazel highlights to them. Charmer was careful with his eyes too- always sweeping out his surroundings the moment he stepped foot into them; even if it was just the catacombs, and he knew everyone there, he still surveyed. Like he was doing an imaginary headcount on everyone. Old habits maybe.

Drummer Boy prided himself on his ability to pick out and memorize agent's details down to the smallest mentions; it helped him identify people in the field, no matter the distance in most cases- allowing him to call out positions when it was needed. And while Charmer was... visibly different from everyone in the Commonwealth basically, Drummer Boy still made a note of taking in every bit of detail he could.

Even down to Charmer's long eyelashes.

They were hardly worth noting in most cases, but it just wasn't common to see someone with long lashes; hell, some people didn't even have eyelashes due to radiation exposure. But they stood out like a black outline around his eyes, and the curled tips pressed into one another every time he blinked. Some of their female agents had compared his lashes to Magnolia's, who were just as long and dark; the Goodneighbor entertainer could ease a crowd with her sultry singing, and just a slight bat of the eyes was enough to get a drunken audience excited.

Somehow, he didn't see Charmer pulling off a stunt like that. If anything it was just another trait that set Charmer apart from this world, apart from this century really. Well two centuries.

In the end, it was hard to deny that the two hundred year old man was attractive to just about any eye- so perhaps the codename Charmer was a suitable fit after all. Perhaps that was why the man had chosen it in the first place.

"Desdemona said to come to you for my next assignment," the man spoke; his voice smooth, and lingering like a good glass of Brandy.

Drummer Boy knew that they were desperate for people, for agents in the field, but for this guy to come in and suddenly be settled in their ranks? It just... didn't seem natural for them. They had a process here- or at least, they used to.

Switchboard made them desperate, not stupid.

But if Desdemona trusted this guy, than so could he.

"Charmer, right?" Drummer Boy questioned, watching as the man nodded. "... Yeah, I got a few things I need to hand out."

* * *

 

"Charmer's a good guy."

Drummer Boy looked up at the quiet words, focusing on Glory's tired look of contentment as she rubbed at her temple with one hand. It was late, maybe early morning even, and the unsettling chill in the air made it hard to sleep- or at least, he told himself that the cold was what was keeping him up. It was always easier to go down that path. Glory had told him that same excuse when she plopped herself down across the desk from him; she didn't technically need sleep though, so he figured she just wanted to keep him company.

They all had this sort of inkling feeling when someone was up, and they all knew not to leave each other alone for too long. Especially at these hours.

"You just saying that 'cause of Malden?" he asked, already having heard the tale of Malden a few times over. Glory had gotten onto Desdemona's case about it, and while the Alpha assured her that she would try to keep a tighter eye on these sort of things... it was near impossible to with how cracked their operations were right now.

It didn't hurt to have back up from time to time though, even if it was annoying for some. Glory was good in the field, one of their best even, but sometimes she had a hard time pulling the trigger on other Synths, even if they were just Gen-1's; she could do it, but she didn't like it.

It was usually easier for her to gun down her own kind if she had someone else to protect. And in this case, that would've been Charmer. Even if the man could protect himself just fine, it was all a mental game to Glory. Drummer Boy had absolutely no doubts that Glory could've cleared out Malden on her own, but... he figured she found it a lot easier with Charmer there- not that he'd think she'd admit to it though.

"Hey, he could've shot me in the back if he wanted to- you would've been none the wiser," Glory replied. "The fact that he showed up in the first place says a lot."

Drummer Boy gave a brief nod in response. "The fact that he does anything says a lot," he answered. "Still weird though."

"Yeah, it's still weird," she agreed.

He used the brief settling of silence between them to go back to his report- although reading it was absolutely mind-numbing at this hour. He was used to working at all hours of the day, working around the clock whenever he could, but... these early morning hours were a grind sometimes. Especially after a night of little to no sleep. Nothing more than routine though. He needed to have these reports memorized.

"The fact that he showed up here, of all places, two hundred years later is weird," Drummer Boy continued. This was technically the future for Charmer, who lived two centuries in the past; and what a shitty future it was.

"Yeah, it gets pretty scary the longer you think about it," Glory noted, leaning over in her chair to pick up the half-empty water bottle at her feet. "I try not to give the situation too much thought- it's just easier that way. Focus on Charmer, but don't _focus_ on him, you know?"

He chuckled lightly at her words, watching as she tossed the bottle between her hands a few times, before she finally decided to open it. "Is that your way of saying that when you were watching his back in Malden, you were actually checking out his ass?"

Glory gave a half-snort, half-laugh through her sip of water. "You would too," she replied. "In fact, I know you do."

"Can you really blame me?" he questioned.

"No."

* * *

 

Within the first week, he could already pinpoint Charmer's footsteps coming through the catacombs.

It took him a little longer, but eventually if Charmer was with a group, he could still pick him out- as well as any other agents he was with. The man was heavy on the heels, and his right leg echoed harder than his left for some reason, a trait that Drummer Boy took extra precaution on noting. Charmer had a calm, controlled gait, but could easily keep up with anyone without breaking speed; despite the collective exterior though, the man moved like he was always in a hurry- not a big one, but still fairly rushed from time to time.

Drummer Boy marked it up as nothing more than nervous habit; after all, in the Commonwealth, it wasn't safe to be slow.

Nearly two months later, he could meet the man on the stairs and inform him of his next operation- a little trait to try and save time and get information out as quickly as possible. Most agents didn't want to return to the catacombs, only to turn around and head all the way back out; they seemed to appreciate the fact that he would at least meet them halfway there so they could get back into the field. A lot of their work was time sensitive, so they all had to try and shave off as many seconds as they could.

Charmer however, always seemed either surprised, or amused every time he was there to greet him.

_"If we keep meeting like this, people are going to start rumors," Charmer remarked- and the slight grin on his lips might've implied it to be a flirt._

_"Don't think you're special, I do this with everyone," Drummer Boy replied, going out of his way to ignore the hopeless look. And going further out of his way to ignore the way it unhinged him- ignoring the slight fluttering it set in his chest. Instead he just tried to focus on handing over the folded piece of paper in his possession. "Here are the details to your next op."_

_"I'll get to it then- see you here when I get back."_

So when Drummer Boy heard those familiar steps coming down the curves of the catacombs, he expected nothing more than yet another job completed. And, more than likely to Charmer's dismay, he already had two more jobs lined up- courtesy of Desdemona though, so don't shoot the messenger.

Picking up the latest report, he started towards the stairs about the same time the door at the top opened. "Charmer," Drummer Boy started, already anticipating one of the man's witty response as he hit the bottom step. No words greeted him though, only heavy footsteps heading down the stairs as Charmer descended- acting as though he never even heard him to begin with.

It might been another one of his antics, but... somehow Drummer Boy didn't think so. Charmer had remarked once or twice that he'd rather avoid going down any stairs any chance he could- and this would've been an easy one to avoid.

"Charmer- whoa there, hang on-"

He caught the man at the bottom of the stairs, unsure if the man was in any real danger of falling- or at least, that was the case until he felt the weight of Charmer come down on him. Legs braced themselves at the sudden addition, which only lasted a few seconds before the man caught himself and steadied out his own feet.

"Sorry about that," Charmer muttered, one hand heavy on Drummer Boy's shoulder as he pushed himself back.

Now he was definitely glad that he had been here, or else Charmer would've ended up cracking his head open on one of the desks, or coffins nearby.

"Christ, what on Earth happened to you?" Drummer Boy started, feeling how the man's skin was hot to the touch underneath his hands.

It was worth noting that Charmer lacked the usual jacket he had on him, which with the chilling breeze outside, it would be stupid to go without one; the man must've either stripped it off, or lost it somewhere along the way. But the lack of the protective sleeves revealed the short-sleeve shirt he wore underneath it, which revealed his arms and hands, which were covered in a beaded red map of hives. Drummer Boy could feel the welts underneath the hand he kept on Charmer's arm for support.

"I'm fine," Charmer half-heartedly assured, sounding as though he was trying to breathe through a blockage in his throat. "Just an... allergic reaction, I think. Just need to... sit down."

An allergic reaction? Those were few and far between to see.

"Carrington!" Drummer Boy called, just loud enough to draw the doctor's attention away from his work. "Charmer uh, either got stung, or ate something that didn't agree with him."

When Carrington eventually looked up to see what was going on, it didn't take him long to share the same shocked expression that Drummer Boy had. "Christ, what did you get stung by?" he muttered, as he got to his feet. "Get him seated, would you? And get a bucket by his feet, he's going to get sick soon enough."

Drummer Boy ushered Charmer to a chair nearby, and pushed him into it- keeping one hand on the man's chest just in case as he kicked over a nearby bucket. Tinker Tom had been tossing old schematics into it as a trash can, so he could only hope that the mechanic was done with the faded blueprints.

He barely had the bucket by Charmer's feet, before he heard the familiar choke, and then watched as the man toppled forward. And whatever contents that had been in the man's stomach... were now no longer there.

Drummer Boy cringed at the sound; no matter how frequently he had been in this position, he still couldn't get used to the noise. Hands were quick to hold back Charmer's hair, which had slightly shifted out of its usual tight hold- yet another habit he was used to doing. A lot of their agents used to work themselves to fatigue and sickness to get their jobs done, and since he was always positioned at base, he normally took over the nurse duties after Carrington had passed them off.

Not exactly a glamorous role, but it certainly wasn't thankless.

"You know, there have been reported increases in the infected blood bug population recently," Desdemona noted, as she kept to her desk- knowing well to give Carrington his space to work. The woman had been stressfully working in silence this whole time, Drummer Boy had forgotten she was even here to begin with. "Something big and irradiated must've died in their hive somewhere."

"It's very likely," Carrington added, as he shuffled through his supplies for whatever kind of medication he might need. "And it doesn't take much to rile up the hive either."

Drummer Boy moved one hand to rub at Charmer's back, feeling the heavy convulsions in his lungs with each stomach-twisting cough. Fingers fumbled to grab at the water bottle settled on the desk nearby, one that Glory had left behind, before he quickly offered it to the man once it seemed like he was through. And Charmer took it graciously- taking a quick sip to rinse his mouth, before he spat it out into the bucket.

"Actually, it's hardly... that serious," Charmer insisted, slow with his words as he still struggled to catch his breath. One hand fumbled to undo the first couple of buttons of his shirt. "I was fine until I ate a piece of mutifruit on the way over." There was a slight pause as he finally got the front of his shirt open, before he gave out an airless sound of relief. "I think I'm allergic to them."

He paused slightly at the confession, watching as Charmer poured some of the water over his head now- no doubt trying to cut down on his fever.

"You're allergic... to mutifruit?" Drummer Boy repeated.

"I'm allergic to any and all citrus fruit," Charmer elaborated, running a shaky hand over his damp hair now. "I guess that would mean that a mutifruit falls into the same category. I don't know what I was thinking- it even had fruit in the name, I should've been a little smarter about it." He took a few seconds to catch his breath, which was still heavy in his throat. "Marcy dried some out for me, and said it would last longer while I traveled, and to be honest, I didn't even think to ask. I was too busy thinking about where I needed to go, and as long as I had supplies with me, it didn't seem to matter. It looked like a little strip of beef jerky if you ask me- kind of tasted like a grape too. The tingling in my mouth set me off though, so I came here as quick as I could in case I passed out from it. I haven't had an allergic reaction since I was twelve, and that was... well, way too long ago."

"Well hey, at least you got here in time," he remarked, pulling up a second chair as he sat down next to the man. "And to be honest, I'm not sure if anyone really knows where mutifruit came from, so there's really no telling what the hell it is."

The remark was enough to get a choppy laugh out of the man.

"At least my reactions were never too serious," Charmer spoke, "otherwise I'd be a dead man right now. And can you imagine that? Man Out of Time done in by a damn mutifruit."

It was his turn to laugh now at the imagery. "We couldn't have that- Glory would be disappointed," Drummer Boy replied.

He wouldn't admit that, while the situation seemed harmless now, something that they could laugh about, it could've easily resulted in death. The thought of dying to a piece of mutifruit might've been humorous to the outside eye, but... the thought of losing Charmer to it was less than funny. The Railroad had hit enough setbacks, they were all tired of seeing the people next to them dying.

They couldn't afford to lose anyone else.

Especially not Charmer.

"And you wouldn't be?" Charmer questioned- that familiar grin on his lips again, although smaller, and more tired this time.

Drummer Boy didn't have a chance to react, let alone fully comprehend the question, before Carrington was pushing him aside and telling him to get back to his work. He was left stumbling aside while Carrington took over with helping Charmer dial back from his allergic reaction.

He told himself not to look into the words too much.

... The advice didn't help though.

* * *

 

_"Look after Charmer, would you?"_

It was a little hard to turn down the request seeing as Desdemona had made it while she was halfway out the door anyways. It wasn't that big of a deal since he was going to be stuck here doing reports anyways; he just didn't expect that he'd suddenly be doing so alone. As soon as Carrington cleared up Charmer and got him settled down again, it seemed like everyone suddenly had places to be.

Carrington got called out to some wounded agents in the field. Nothing serious, thankfully, just a few cracked ankles and wrists from slipping on ice from the sound of the distress call.

Desdemona left to meet up with High-Rise at Goodneighbor, so she would be gone for awhile too. The Alpha very rarely left the catacombs herself, but sometimes important business called, and High-Rise refused to let the woman dig her heels in.

Glory had been gone all morning; the Heavy was spending her time at one of the other safehouses cleaning up the surrounding area.

And any agents that had snoozed through the whole allergy deal had already woken up and headed out on business.

So, for now, he was stuck here, filling out reports, and occasionally glancing to the man passed out on the mattress next to his desk. Whatever Carrington had given Charmer had started to clear up his skin and helped to level out his breathing thankfully- but it also knocked him out cold. It made for an easy watch assignment, even though he had to check now and again to make sure the man was still breathing. Sometimes it was a little hard to tell.

It took about an hour before the man's quiet slumber was punctured by a hard wheeze, and he watched as Charmer seemingly woke himself up with it. Dark eyes snapped open suddenly, and stilled, before they slowly drooped back down.

"Where am I?" Charmer questioned groggily, the waking moment of panic quick to dissolve.

"You're in the catacombs," Drummer Boy answered, taking a break from his reports as he focused his attention on the man. Again, he had been in plenty situations like this before, and speaking calm and clearly usually did the trick with keeping a Med-X hazed patient calm.

"... Still?"

He frowned slightly at the odd question, taking note of Charmer's confused look at his answer. It wasn't like the man had time to go anywhere else after Carrington gave him the medication; he passed out almost immediately afterwards.

"Yeah." Was all he answered with.

Charmer groaned and rolled onto his back, hands moving to rub against his eyes, and then his face as though trying to sober himself back up. It didn't take long before he heaved himself up into a seated position, stifled a brief yawn and looked around the place, as though in need for confirmation. "Shit..." he muttered, rubbing at the back of his neck now. "I must've had one of those roaming dreams then... Thought I was already back at the Castle."

From what reports would say, Charmer worked as a Railroad agent, but shadowed for the Minutemen as well.

Drummer Boy watched as the man took a moment or two to recollect and wake himself up, before fingers moved to fumble with his right pants leg. He had to admit he was curious as to what the man was doing, seeing as he was still groggy and fumbled through every motion he was doing; he watched as Charmer tugged on a zipper on the outer hem of his pants leg and pulled it up to his knee.

Fingers pulled the denim aside, and exposed the long, tight-fitted black legging of some kind that covered the length of his shin. The material was odd looking, maybe like some kind of wetsuit or something- like the kind Deacon had pulled out of a lake somewhere last year. The man never would reveal his secrets as to where this mysterious 'lake' was, or why he went diving into it, but then again, no one liked to ask Deacon questions to begin with.

Charmer's fingers slid underneath the tight hem of the material, before they tugged it down as well.

Exposing the prosthetic limb underneath.

Fingers circled his knee cap, seemingly tending and checking on the area, before the man pulled the mechanical leg off- exposing the below-the-knee amputation. The man grunted slightly at the action, as though it had exerted more force and energy than he thought it would, before he peeled back on the protective liner that covered the remaining portion of his leg. The skin around his knee was slightly red, and once more Charmer gently prodded and touched at it.

Suddenly, a lot of things about Charmer made sense.

It explained why his right leg sounded heavier than his left, why he tried to avoid stairs as often as he could- and water too for that matter. Maybe even why he didn't spend too many nights in the catacombs, bundled up next to the other agents in the back hallway.

"What happened?"

The question escaped Drummer Boy before he could even consider the faux pas behind it. Plenty of their working agents had prothetic limbs as well, so it wasn't an entirely uncommon sight. And the fact that he usually knew how the accidents occurred meant he normally didn't have to ask- so he wasn't used to being in the dark about something. Still, he had to call himself out on the insensitivity of the question.

A majority of their agent's limb injuries stemmed from Institute Coursers and their high-powered rifles; a few others were from horrific run-ins with Raiders. And in the case of their agent, Meat, a Yao-Guai attack- hence the codename; that was at her insistence though, and the lost of her dominant arm had yet to slow her down in the slightest.

Most of their prosthetics had been stripped from destroyed Gen-1 Synths, and repurposed to fit and function. And in the case that a Gen-1 Synth couldn't be found, an Assaultron was a good fit too; agent Meat rather enjoyed the two-finger prongs of the Assaultron hand- although it was best to avoid letting her pinch you with them.

Tinker Tom was actually pretty good at hand making a few prosthetics himself- although not too many agents took him up on the offer.

Charmer gave a quiet chuckle as he seemingly finished his brief examination. "I was a field medic in the army during the war- the one that actually lead to the bombs dropping and to the creation of this world," he started, rubbing slightly at the stunted limb, before he slowly began to pull everything back on; first the liner, and then the prosthetic, and then protective wetsuit. "I took a sniper shot to the leg during a night ambush, and the bullet ended up shattering both my tibia and fibula; the doctor back at our main base of operation told me that no amount of pins or rods could fix it- and even if it could, I wouldn't be able to walk with it. I was out for a year to recover, and then I worked myself back to active duty. People with my experience, and my skill set were few and far between, otherwise the military would've discharged me before I even went into surgery."

Right.

A pre-war injury- made sense.

"That's quite the story, Charmer," Drummer Boy remarked. "Can't say that I would've guessed that."

"Ah, it wasn't all bad," the man continued, zipping the seam of his pants leg closed once more. "I met my wife, Luka, while I was in the ICU recovering; she was in the next bed over recovering from malaria. She kept me in good spirits throughout the ordeal- mainly by making me appreciate the fact that I didn't have malaria."

Everyone pretty much knew what had happened to Charmer's wife- it was one of the reasons he was so insistent on finding the Institute himself. But... this was the first time Charmer had mentioned her by name, or really at all. It had to have been a touchy subject for him, and he probably didn't like the fact that everyone knew about her, and that they knew what had happened to her.

Nothing like open details to derail the grieving process.

"But as you would know, I can get around with it just fine," he assured, giving the prosthetic leg a brief rub. "State of the art, pre-war technology. I was told that the damn thing would outlive me."

"I'm pretty sure that warranty was only good for pre-war environments," Drummer Boy remarked, garnering a brief laugh from Charmer now. "You know though, it makes a lot more sense why you kept telling Carrington to 'take off your leg' before you passed out."

Charmer gave a louder laugh this time, which stumbled into a slight cough, before he recovered. "Christ, yeah I... try not to keep it on for longer than necessary. There are rules and instructions for these kinds of things, and I'm cutting enough corners with them as is. I'm lucky I haven't had any skin breakdowns; a lot of blisters and bruises, but I can manage those as they come to me."

That was the usual complaint coming from their other prosthetic-wearing agents.

"Well hey, if you ever need maintenance on it, Tinker Tom's pretty handy with metal limbs," he offered. "A lot of people are kind of weary about it, but he does good work, and he knows what he's doing- uh, well, for the most part anyways."

"I'll keep that in mind," Charmer nodded, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck. Again, the same grogginess from before seemed to be washing back over him. "Christ, I don't know what Carrington gave me, but it is kicking my ass right now."

"Homemade concoction is the best answer that I can give you," Drummer Boy replied, already quietly bracing himself for if he needed to catch Charmer again. "A little bit of Med-X too, which knocks most people out. You probably more so since you're... well, you know, not from around here technically."

The man gave a tired chuckle, his voice sounding rough again as he slipped back into a drowsy state of mind. "Hey, I lived here before anyone of you guys did- you're the ones who aren't from around here."

"Pulling the old 'pre-war' card on us, are you?" he spoke. "Well if you're so-" his words were cut short as he watched Charmer finally nod off from where he was sitting, before the man slumped to one side and fell against him instead; his head resting against the side of his thigh. He stilled for a moment, waiting to see if the man would move or not, only to watch as he seemed to make himself more comfortable instead. Not exactly the best predicament, but if the man had fallen in the opposite direction, he would've smashed his head into the wall. Still, certainly not the first time he had had someone fall asleep on him. "Charmer-"

"Elijah," the man interrupted- surprising Drummer Boy a little since he thought Charmer had gone cold again.

He looked down at the man once more, watching as he adjusted his body as needed before he fell still once more. _Elijah_? Was that... was that his actual name? Nearly three months in and he had been good at avoiding any instances where Charmer's name would've come up- which, in the Railroad, was pretty easy to do. Outside though, now that was harder. Thankfully the radio seemed to enjoy referring to him as the Man Out of Time instead; sometimes as the 'sole survivor' too. And the occasional drop of 'General' seemed to be a good reference as well.

Drummer Boy didn't exactly know what to do with the given information- it felt too personal to know. "We don't normally... give away our real names," he started; it was all for security reasons. It was for protection; protection for them, protection for the Railroad. Although he couldn't say that he knew of an instance where someone's name had been given away, or revealed.

"Everyone else in the Commonwealth knows my name," Charmer- _Elijah_ \- insisted. "... I wanted you to know too."


	2. Chapter 2

Even with the rundown, dilapidated church serving as mild shelter from the blistering wind, it was still cold.

Drummer Boy could still see his breath as white clouds every time he breathed out- although it had a tendency to mix with the smoke that was was also leaving his lips at the same time. A swirling mess of silver smoke and white condensation that hung in the air for a few seconds too long. Reminded him of the dark clouds that still rolled overhead during most of the day; reminded him of the dark clouds that morning that had deposited a fresh coat of snow in their wake- which only added to their growing weather problems.

Whenever the snow melted throughout the afternoon, if it did melt anyways, it would freeze again overnight, and then the new coating of snow would hide the fresh ice. They had had one too many accidents that morning already- mostly bruised tailbones, and wrists. Carrington had been working overtime on getting agents patched up and back out on the road. It wasn't what he was normally used to doing, but bruises healed better than bullets at least.

It was cold, but it twisted hot in the knot of his back- swelling throughout the day and reminding him of his limitations.

He didn't normally come up top like this very often, not unless it was necessary; mostly because of the cold, but mostly because of work too. There was nothing for him to do up here, and time wasted was time lost in this business. But every agent was out in the field, and he had all the reports memorized in his head, so he could risk a few minutes for a smoke and some fresh air.

Although the two normally didn't go hand-in-hand with one another.

If anything, they were counterproductive.

Didn't stop him though.

His hand shook a little as he pulled the cigarette from his lips, the blistering cold getting to his fingertips now. His gloves provided good protection, but with the fingers cut off of them, they were somewhat useless in the winter. They were good enough in the catacombs though, so he couldn't complain.

His hand also shook a little at the sound of approaching footsteps cracking through the thin ice on the walkway outside.

Heavy on the right foot; casual and easy, slight stagger because of the ice.

_Charmer_.

Drummer Boy waited by the stairway door, leaning back against the brown bricks as he waited- hearing the man drawing ever so closer. Heard the slight raggedness of his breath, the quickness of his feet as he seemingly hurried towards the door; desperately seeking some kind of sanctuary from the weather.

And when Charmer did emerge, shouldering his way through the front door, only to quickly slam it shut behind him, he looked a little more dressed for the weather. He was wearing a heavier jacket- a thicker one made of patchwork, maybe homemade even. It seemed to suit him just fine; the additional hood was a nice touch for him- it would be enough to keep his neck and ears from freezing. He rubbed his bare hands together to make heat, before he breathed into them- collecting hot air on his palms for additional warmth, before he started for the staircase.

Only to stop.

"Okay, now this I know you don't do with everyone," the man spoke, a cold grin hovering on his pale lips.

It was an... amusing look, if not also slightly painful with how deathly cold the man seemed to be. He made the trek from Goodneighbor that morning, so an hour or so in this weather was enough to blister any exposed skin red- as hinted by the strip of red across the man's face; wind blistered.

"Had a few things I wanted to talk to you about," Drummer Boy replied, before he gestured to the door behind him. "Didn't want the others to hear."

Charmer nodded, and closed a few steps between them- edging himself away from the broken, exposed portions of the church walls. "Hit me."

He took one more drag from his cigarette and breathed it out, before he let the joint remain tucked between his lips; his hands worked to peel his own gloves off. "I heard through the grapevine that you and Deacon aren't getting along too well," Drummer Boy started, as he moved to further close the space between them. He gestured for Charmer to give him one of his hands- to which the man relented.

Again, the fingers were cut off, but the gloves were better than nothing as he slipped one of them over Charmer's too cold hand.

"I understand that Deacon is important to the Railroad, and important to the team, but..." Charmer's voice lingered, waiting- perhaps testing the waters of his reaction. "I don't like a liar."

There was truth in his voice, and Drummer Boy nodded as he took Charmer's other hand and slipped it into a glove as well. His hands were almost blood red from exposure, and Drummer Boy figured that someone who was a field medic should've known better. Then again, the wrong kind of gloves made it difficult to keep a steady hold on your weapon; and the right kind of gloves were hard to find now and days.

"Harmless or not," Charmer continued. "I'm not going to sit around and waste my time on some guy trying to convince me that he's actually a Synth. I don't hate Deacon; we operate fine when it's about business, but... I can't do field work with him. I _won't_."

It was... rare to run into someone who was willing to call Deacon out on his lying- enough so to stop working in the field with him.

At the very least, Deacon didn't seem too sour about it, but the action hadn't settled well with the other agents. Desdemona hadn't been surprised by Charmer's declaration, and told everyone to calm down over it- said that it wasn't an issue that they needed to worry about. After all, Deacon, more often than not, brought it upon himself to be dislikable.

He certainly couldn't blame Charmer.

"Heard some rumors about you and the Brotherhood," Drummer Boy continued, as he pressed Charmer's hands together and held them between his own; his weren't much warmer, but they weren't red either. He still had a little bit of body heat to give away. He pressed his lips together and drew in from his cigarette, before he pushed smoke out through the unoccupied corner of his lips.

"I helped out some of their people at Cambridge," Charmer spoke- not the least bit hesitant to answer him. "They took me to meet with the Brotherhood Elder, who offered me a position in their ranks."

Just like that?

He hadn't heard much of the Brotherhood before, but he knew they looked armed for war when they came in; their airship was visible no matter where you stood in the Commonwealth. Rumors flew in with every agent that came by that the Brotherhood was looking for the Institute as well- and that they were gunning down every Synth that they could find.

So, automatically, a bad mark in the Railroad's book.

So much so that Desdemona already had plans in motion to take them down should the Brotherhood attempt to get in their way.

"I turned them down."

Drummer Boy looked up at Charmer at the words- briefly studying him and taking in the brute honesty in his words.

"I have my hands tied enough as it is, and..."

There it was- the one word he was hoping to avoid in this conversation.

"And?" Drummer Boy pressed.

"Something didn't feel right about the Elder," Charmer shrugged. "He had control over an entire fleet, an entire airship- everyone followed his command to a T; no questions, no arguments. Absolute power corrupts absolutely, and there was no soft-heartedness to be found in that guy. He came here on a mission, and while we share a common enemy with the Institute, that's where our common interests end. I have no intentions of siding, let alone even talking, to a guy like that again- and I suggest everyone here avoid him as well."

Just another confirmation that the Brotherhood was not to be welcomed in the Commonwealth. Desdemona had already warned everyone to steer clear of any soldiers, and even some of their agents reported hiding every time a Vertibird flew overhead. Their operations were already being affected by the Brotherhood's presence, and this was without direct interference.

He didn't want to know what the Brotherhood might do if they actually found out about the Railroad, and figured out where they were staying.

Nothing good, that was for sure.

"I went to war with people in power armor before- I'm not looking to go to war with them again," Charmer finished, moving his hands slightly to rub his palms together- to generate more heat between them. "Satisfied?"

The single word was enough to still him- enough to bring a slight twist in his gut.

"This wasn't an interrogation," Drummer Boy assured, moving to curl his fingers around Charmer's- feeling the way they moved all too easily into the touch. "I'm ninety percent of the communication around here; I speak with every agent, with every Heavy who comes through these doors." That much was a given- everyone knew that. "I just wanted to have an honest answer to give to the agents should rumors start flaring up. Believe me, they trust me to have honest knowledge. Most of the time, the only thing separating them from death is the information I give them. I just wanted to be able to reassure them that our best asset right now isn't planning on stabbing us in the back later on down the road."

(And God, he hoped Charmer wouldn't).

"Damage control, I can understand that," Charmer replied with a nod. "If my word is as good as my work, I can assure you that I'd much rather work alongside Deacon again than work anywhere close with the Brotherhood."

Drummer Boy chuckled with the words. "That's all I needed to hear."

A brief pause moved its way between them, allowing for the situation and the conversations to settle. Allowing him to focus a little more on Charmer's hands, which were just slightly smaller than his own- which meant his gloves fit him with near ease.

"Smoking is bad for you, you know."

One hand moved to finish off the cigarette at his lips, before he snubbed it out himself on the wall nearby. "So's radiation," Drummer Boy reminded. "So is long hair in the wrong situation."

"You don't have to tell me that."

The slight grimace on Charmer's face at the words was enough to draw another short laugh- mostly out of sympathy and pity for the man. He brushed his thumbs against Charmer's fingers, working the blood flow back into them with a few tight circles over his knuckles; he felt the slight semblance of heat returning to the man's fingertips. But he watched as Charmer withdrew one of his hands- taking one of his own with it.

Drummer Boy felt like he was more curious than he should've been, so he didn't so much as fight the motion- only to watch as Charmer brought his hand to his lips. He felt the cold brush of them against his palm, chapped and dry, before he felt the warmth of the man's breath ease across his cold skin. For a moment, he was mesmerized; a little taken back by the gesture- and more than aware of the red flush that spread across his face in reaction.

"Can I help you?" Drummer Boy questioned, catching the way Charmer's eyes moved to meet his own- peering down through those damned eyelashes of his. And he could see the appeal in them up close now, catching slivers of hazel peeking through them.

A brief laugh escaped the man- slightly muffled behind his own palm, which was once more warmed by Charmer's breath. There was a hint of nervousness in his laugh though, and it was hard to ignore the way the man seemed to glance around them- as though to make sure that they were alone.

"Yeah, uh... how does, you know... fraternizing work around here?"

The question caught Drummer Boy by surprise, and he found himself having to suppress a quick grin in response. "Excuse me?" The humor of the situation spilled into his voice though, causing the man in front of him to once more grin in return.

Charmer released his hand- although Drummer Boy certainly had no qualms with the man keeping it. "Look, I am... horribly out of time here- out of style, and really out of my game. I mean, the first time I flirted with my wife, she was on IV fluids, and I was on morphine; she had Malaria, and I had half a leg. I got lucky back then, and I guess... I was just hoping I'd get lucky again."

Drummer Boy laughed again and pulled down slightly on the bill of his hat- trying to hide his own nerves and blush. One hand moved forward and rested on Charmers' chest, briefly patting it over the padding of the man's jacket.

"We'll see, Charmer," he replied, before he turned and headed down through the doorway and down the staircase that would take them back to the catacombs. Glad to get away from the wind chill for a little while- even if the catacombs weren't all that much warmer themselves. He heard Charmer quick to follow him though, and heard the man close the stairway door behind them. "In the meantime, Dez wants you for something- said she had something big she needed you to take care of."

"I thought Glory usually handled the big things Dez gave out," Charmer spoke.

And he was almost certain that there was a joke somewhere in there, but decided not to push it. Didn't want to be wrong. "Glory's got her hands tied with something up towards Mercer," Drummer Boy answered, hearing the stairs creak under his weight, before he stepped down into the narrow, winding tunnels. "Glory doesn't feel the cold, so she spends as much time as she can outside- covering for agents who turned in sick. She'll probably be stuck at Mercer for awhile, so until then you gotta cover whatever's left."

"You got any idea what Dez wants me for?" Charmer asked.

"I'll be honest with you, I haven't a clue."

They worked their way through the tunnels, and opened the hidden doorway long enough for the two of them to slip inside before it sealed shut behind them. And he made sure that it was closed this time. A slight accident before had left the doorway propped open for an entire night, and while the only security breach they had was a single feral ghoul, it opened the reality that it could've been worse. And since then, Dez had been harping on everyone to check again and again to make sure that the door had sealed behind them.

Stepping down into the HQ itself, Drummer Boy hit the bottom of the stairs just in time to see Desdemona coming out of PAM's room- a fresh cigarette on her lips, and one hand waving off Carrington, who was right behind her. So it was pretty easy to tell that whatever was going on was not good.

"We can still leave-" Charmer whispered, a few steps behind him.

"Charmer's here," Drummer Boy announced, cutting the man off and hearing a quiet groan in response; he couldn't help but to grin slightly at the effect.

Desdemona looked up at the call and waved the man over. "Charmer, good, you're here," she started, bypassing smoke through her lips without touching her cigarette as she shuffled through the folders on her makeshift desk. If she was needing to keep both of her hands free, then yeah, this wasn't going to be an easy task. "I need you to head out to Ticonderoga. High-Rise is in need of some firepower in the area."

If High-Rise was involved, then he could understand why Desdemona was breaking her own rule about smoking in the catacombs. And why she seemed pretty peeved off at Carrington. High-Rise was good at what he did; he hosted and protected one of their best safe houses- hell, the man had secured and cleaned it out himself. He was bonafide genius in his own right. But he and Desdemona had a tendency of butting heads, probably because they were both pretty stubborn and hard-headed when it came down to business.

And Carrington usually got dragged into their arguments, even though the man really wasn't any different at debating; hell, they were all stubborn and dominant in conversation, but... they usually got things done in a semi-timely manner. Not without a bunch of hurt feelings though.

"Drummer Boy, I need you to go with Charmer."

"What?"

The question left him before he even had a firm grasp on what was being asked. He very rarely left the HQ, although that wasn't necessarily due to his own accord. He'd preferred to be out in the field more, but he was needed here more than he was needed out there- surprisingly enough. It was his job to keep the information circling and to keep all their agents informed, so... for him to actually be called out into the field, that was a new one on him.

"What's High-Rise want with me?" Drummer Boy questioned, as soon as he got his bearings.

"Communication error," Desdemona answered. "Someone played a bad game of Telephone, or something, and now we've got agents in the wrong places all over the Commonwealth. I need you to go out there and sort it all out before we inadvertently draw attention to ourselves."

Shit.

Alright, well he had to admit that that would be easier to do in person rather than over the radio. Too much case-sensitive information anyways; they couldn't risk someone potentially tapping into their lines.

"You got someone to cover for me here?" he asked.

"Carrington has it under control," Desdemona assured. "Most of our agents know what to do anyways, so they shouldn't even notice your absence- but in the crisis that they forget their objectives, we can radio you."

Okay, that kind of sounded like a backhanded remark, but he would take it.

It wasn't like he had much of a choice in the matter anyways as it would seem.

Drummer Boy turned his attention back to Charmer, who seemed to be a mix of surprised, and amused by the situation. "Alright, well it's still early," he noted, "if we leave now, we can make it there before dark." Only an hour or so to Ticonderoga, but these winter days were short on light, and they couldn't risk getting stuck out there when it was dark, and cold.

"Yeah, sure thing," Charmer nodded, before he turned back to Desdemona. "Glory got things covered from here?"

"Glory's always got the things covered," the woman herself announced as she made her way down the stairs behind them; each step seemed heavier than the last thanks to the minigun strapped to the back of her rig. "Just because you've been picking up _some_ slack, Charmer, doesn't mean you gonna replace me."

Charmer laughed and held his hands up in defense, but didn't little to stop the woman as she playfully slugged him on the shoulder. "I wouldn't dream of it- honest."

"If you want, I can head out to Ticonderoga instead," Glory offered. "I haven't seen High-Rise in awhile, and I'm sure the man thinks I've gone off to join the soul circus somewhere."

"No, no that's fine- I got it handled."

It was a little hard to ignore just how quick Charmer was to decline Glory's offer- and even harder to ignore the grin Glory wore in response. Drummer Boy was almost certain that Glory had only made the offer because she knew Charmer would decline. But she just wanted to hear it all for herself.

"Let me get my things, and we'll head out," Drummer Boy spoke- trying to ignore the look that Glory was shooting him now.

Christ, if Desdemona and Carrington weren't so busy and preoccupied with quietly arguing with one another, he was almost certain the two would've caught onto what was going on now. And he sure as hell didn't want to listen to any kind of lecture about... flirting in the workplace, or whatever it was.

It only took him a few minutes to gather the essentials: his gun and some ammo, as well as a few supplies for the road. Again, Ticonderoga wasn't too far- but he should try to account for the cold, and any sort of chaos they might run into along the way. The cold slowed everyone down though, so Raiders and Gunners were few and far between at the moment. But there would be plenty of places to hide along the way, so they could easily play this safe, and smart.

Slipping his bag over his shoulder, he put on a second jacket to conceal it and figured he was about as ready as he could get.

"We're heading out, Dez. We'll radio in when we get there," Drummer Boy called.

"Stay safe out there," the Alpha replied.

"And stay warm too," Glory added, already undoing her rig set up and dropped her minigun onto one of the desks. "And watch out for the shoreline- those Mirelurks are getting desperate, and they will attack if you get too close."

A sound piece of advice.

"Will do," he assured, before he climbed the stairs and headed back out through the catacombs. Charmer had left shortly after Glory had arrived to move ahead and scout out the area. He didn't think there would be much out there, but it really didn't hurt to be careful now and days. Climbing back through the winding, narrow tunnels, Drummer Boy ran himself through his own mental reports- wondering where exactly a bad piece of information might've gotten mixed in. It would be quite a walk to Ticonderoga, so he should have plenty of time to think things through.

Stepping out of the church, he watched as Charmer seemed to be returning back just the same. "Am I ever going to get rid of you?" Drummer Boy remarked, watching as the man cracked a grin.

"At this rate, no," Charmer mused. "Looks like you're gonna be stuck with me for awhile now."

"Perfect."

* * *

 

The way to Ticonderoga was mostly by city alleyways and crushed streets to start off with, which would eventually open up to the pier side and to the long bridge across the half-frozen river. The thin piece of shoreline around it would no doubt be littered with Mirelurks burrowed into the sand for warmth- but from what Glory was saying, a few desperate ones would be prowling the streets as well.

The road was quiet as they worked their way down it- taking in the environment and listening for anything; or at least Drummer Boy was. Charmer had his eyes set on everything around them, scanning and looking; always observing. It was quiet for the time being though. Calm- almost peaceful really. But mostly cold though.

A chilling breeze brought forth the knot twisting tight in his back- even under two jacket layers. He could ignore it for the most part, but unfortunately the former wound was just as persistent as he was.

"You alright?" Charmer asked, seemingly out of the blue.

The man had a sharp pair of eyes though, and no doubt being a former medic made it easy for him to pick up on the stiff way he walked, and the occasional way his shoulders slumped forward. There wasn't much that could be hidden from the man's attention it would seem.

"Bad back," Drummer Boy answered, simply enough. "The cold makes it worse, but it's bearable."

"What happened?"

There was a genuine sense of intrigue, maybe a little bit of concern in the man's tone.

"I got shot," he replied- chewing through the urge to light a cigarette. He didn't really want to, other than to settle the nicotine carving; the smoke would potentially give them away anyways. Mirelurks were pretty sensitive to smoke, and the chilling breeze would make it far too easy for the smoke to travel. They were having an easy enough time as it was- it would be a shame to ruin the peace.

Not to mention, he wasn't a big fan of walking and smoking at the same time. He smoked to relax when he could, and the walking portion would just make his lungs feel tighter than they normally did.

Charmer went back to checking their surroundings, but it was a little easy to see the brief look of surprise on his lips. The guy was used to seeing him just hanging around the HQ- this was the first time he had been out this far in a long while. He could understand why Charmer might've been a little surprised that he had been shot once or twice in his life; even despite the world that they were currently living in.

"What happened?" The same question on repeat, but for a different reason.

Drummer Boy guessed that this was payback for asking about Charmer's leg so... insensitively.

"Courser at Switchboard," he answered, catching the way Charmer paused for a moment, before he did the same. He had just barely managed to catch some movement in the corner of his eye about that same time- something fluttering in the window of the rundown building to his right.

A few seconds of observing later revealed it to just be a dying blood bug.

Most of the insects disappeared during the winter, only to reappear almost first day of spring. They usually holed up in tunnels, or whatever kind of tight, dark crevices they could fit into. They only moved during the warmest part of the day, and only when it was necessary to get blood.

They tended to stay in a swarm to generate enough heat to keep each other alive, but this one must've strayed too far.

"It was a flesh shot, nothing more," Drummer Boy continued, resisting the urge to rub at the firm knot in his back as he moved forward once more- leaving the blood bug on its own. "Left a hell of a scar though."

"I know all about that," Charmer spoke, with a brief chuckle, as he lagged somewhat behind him. There was a second or two of silence, before he elaborated. "What I meant was, when I got shot in the leg, I also took a bullet to the ribs."

He looked back at the remark, watching as the man continued to keep a sharp eye on the environment around them. "They weren't just satisfied with shooting out your leg?" he questioned.

If the question came off as being insensitive, Charmer didn't seem to mind and simply laughed it off.

"The sniper shot my ribs when I was pulling myself to safety," the man replied, one hand rubbing at the right portion of his ribcage as he spoke. "If I hadn't gotten behind that supply cache when I did, they probably would've gotten in a few more shots. I got lucky though, and it didn't hit anything important thankfully- but it did break a rib or two going in, so I got a nice scar out of it. Not as nice as my leg, but I mean, it's not bad."

He chuckled lightly at the man's ability to poke fun at himself- or at least to see light of the situation now. It probably took Charmer some time to reach that point, but... maybe it felt like a step in the right direction for him.

"You should show me that scar one day," Drummer Boy remarked.

"Only if you show me yours."

"... We'll see, Charmer."

* * *

 

Charmer's attitude shifted slightly as the two of them made their way across the long bridge that would connect them to the other mainland.

The bridge shifted slightly in the breeze, which wasn't the least bit comforting- especially considering the murky, half-frozen river below. The river flowed too much for it to completely freeze over, but there were still sizable chunks of ice floating at the surface. Water was normally a bad idea to begin with, but during the cold months, it was an even worse choice.

Drummer Boy figured the man shared his same sort of distain towards bridges. They felt too open, too exposed; there weren't many things to hide behind asides from cracked pillars and crushed cars. And considering how the Railroad operated, it was always smarter for them to be in an environment where they could hide; it was how they worked best. Even if it was just a brief walk to get to the other side, maybe ten minutes max, all it would take was a Super Mutant with a minigun at the other end to royally screw them up. After all, it wasn't like they could just jump off the sides- that in itself was a death wish.

Didn't help that with the surrounding buildings and such, it would be an easy place for someone to set up post and-

_Oh._

The slightest thought of a sniper setting up a roost somewhere in this area suddenly bought sense to Charmer's sudden silence. Sniper Rifles were pretty hard to find in the Commonwealth- especially a good one; he doubted many of them could even hit close to the bridge unless it had been modded out the ass by someone who knew what the hell they were doing. Still, just the scenario alone was probably enough to bring back some unpleasant memories for the man.

Drummer Boy briefly wondered if the cold weather had the same effect on Charmer's leg as it did with his back.

If Charmer felt the tightly knotted sensation spread up through his knee at the slightest implication of change. If he woke to the same pain, to the same swelling, and had to make the conscious decision to push through it.

He wondered if Charmer could still hear the distant crack of the rifle- if he had hear it at all anyways. Pre-war weaponry had to have had better silencers than the handmade ones sitting around today.

Wondered if Charmer could still hear and feel the bullet breaking through his leg, shattering everything in its wake.

Wondered if every time he closed his eyes and let himself linger on it, if he still remembered the sounds of if all.

"You alright?" Drummer Boy asked, breaking the silence first as his own thoughts caught up with him; wondering where his thoughts on Charmer had stopped, and where his own had merged in. "Been quiet."

"Ticonderoga's further away than I remember," Charmer admitted, white clouds rolling out between his lips. Some dark clouds had moved in overhead, and the temperature was dropping a little faster than either of them would've liked. "The cold's getting to me."

It was a subtle hint of confirmation that the man wasn't talking about anything else but his leg. Then again, Charmer must've been out all morning, having started from Goodneighbor to get to the HQ, only to be sent out to Ticonderoga. He had barely gotten a chance to get warm in the catacombs, before he was having to step back out into the cold.

"Need a break?" Drummer Boy offered.

"No, I'd uh... I'd much rather get there instead," Charmer assured, before he managed to muster up a small grin towards him. "Worried about me?"

"Yeah," he replied- his honesty seemingly catching the man by surprise. "I can't exactly show up to Ticonderoga without you- people might get suspicious."

And for the first time since they stepped on that bridge, Charmer laughed.

* * *

 

"Hey, hey, Charmer, Drummer Boy, it's been too long!"

Drummer Boy offered a smile as High-Rise greeted them out front; the man always was one for common courtesy. And despite the wind having picked up, and fresh clouds on the horizon, the man still only donned his jeans and leather jacket- seemingly unaffected by the cold. "High-Rise, it's good to see you again," he started, as he reached out and took the man's extended hand, before he felt the other one clap him on the shoulder. "Good to see you still got the place looking good."

"Hey, you know me," the man laughed, briefly shaking him by the shoulder now. "You're looking good though- better than the last time I saw you."

High-Rise had helped out as best he could after Switchboard, but it was understandable that he had his own safe house to take care of and run; and given the casualties of Switchboard, they still needed as many people as they could maintaining operations in the absences. Wasn't easy, and it was stressful enough, but the man pulled through and kept their heads above the water.

He had dropped by a few times to gather whatever reports he could to take over operations, and since Drummer Boy was usually the head of information, he had to correlate with the man. Even if he was fighting through late night insomnia and early morning sickness from the still fresh injury in his back. He was pretty certain he had thrown up on High-Rise once or twice, but those days were sort of a haze to him now, so it was hard to be certain.

Plus High-Rise never brought it up, which he was thankful for.

"Yeah well... you know how things go," Drummer Boy nodded, quick to end the conversation topic. "Alright, so what problems are going on around here exactly?"

"You wouldn't believe the mess, but-" High-Rise spoke, only to interrupt himself, "hospitality first, please. I got you two a room you can break in for the time being to get warm and set up. It's too late to handle the gun portion of the business here, but I got a couple of agents heading back tonight, so you can help with the information issues we got going on. The situation isn't completely out of control, but it is getting out of hand."

Oh, good.

He could still get in a few hours of shut eye, and get his thoughts together.

Not to mention, a few hours to get off of his feet would be great too.

"Sounds good," Drummer Boy nodded once more. "Hope you don't mind then, but I'm gonna head up now and get as much information out of my head as I can before everyone comes through. I want to make sure I have answers prepared before everyone comes in with questions."

"Right on, right on, just head on up and you'll know where to look- got you some clean supplies too, so don't worry," High-Rise spoke, as he dropped the hand from his shoulder. "By the way, we do have working showers, with heat, but just try to take them one at a time; it's easy to blow the pressure gauge otherwise. Got a lady coming by later this week with the part that can fix the tank, but I'm just trying to keep it alive until then. I got agents taking showers together, so don't be surprised if it gets a little crowded in there."

Really could've gone without that last piece of information, but hey, they had all been there before.

"Thanks," Drummer Boy noted, before he headed inside of the building and went straight for the open elevator; he waited long for Charmer to get inside, before he hit the appropriate floor button. "You ever stay at Ticonderoga before?"

"Before the war, sure- back when it wasn't Ticonderoga," Charmer answered, leaning one shoulder against the cramped elevator wall. "And to be honest, this is actually an upgrade from what it used to be."

He chuckled lightly at the words, and felt the elevator jolt slightly as it rambled upwards. To this day, he was still impressed that High-Rise had managed to jerry-rig the elevator to work from scrap; and, to this day, it had yet to crash, or stop working. It made a lot of noise, and abrupt stops from time to time, but it worked and that was really all that mattered.

"So about this sharing a shower thing-"

"Charmer," he interrupted, catching yet another grin on the man's face, before the elevator came to a stop and the doors shimmed open. "... We'll see."

"You have _got_ to stop saying that."

He bit back a laugh and headed through the small lobby and up the staircase- taking note that High-Rise still kept the place in top shape. The man was a stickler for details, and he liked his agents to have a nice place to relax after a long run. So it wasn't uncommon to see two or three Heavies passed out together on the common room couches- too exhausted to make it up to their rooms.

Heading up to the second floor, Drummer Boy moved through the tight corridors and kept his eyes moving from door to door until he spotted the one High-Rise had marked for them. A simple clipboard hanging from the door to signal that it was available, and a scribbled note to say who it was assigned to.

Plucking the clipboard free, he pushed the door open and stepped into the small room. It didn't offer much space, in fact it might've been a supply closet at one point, but it was big enough to fit two beds in one corner, and a small makeshift desk between them. At the very least, he had a place to work at this time.

"Well, here's home sweet home for the next few days," Drummer Boy spoke, as he tossed the clipboard onto the desk. "Get used to living in even closer quarters."

"Former military," Charmer reminded, as he squeezed into the room after him. "I've been in smaller places with more people- Hell, I've had people fall asleep on top of me before."

He watched as Charmer set his bag down on one of the beds, the one pressed against the furthest wall, before the man himself tumbled onto the thin mattress; the small metal frame underneath it creaked at the sudden weight. "Is that what the military life was like before the bombs?" Drummer Boy questioned, as he tugged one of the drawers of the desk opened to find a small ream of paper inside. _Thank you, High-Rise._ Hell, the man even included a fresh pencil- not that he didn't always carry one with him anyways. "Certainly explains a lot about you then."

He heard Charmer give a quiet laugh at the remark, before Drummer Boy felt his own glove hitting the back of his neck- having been flung from Charmer's hand. He had almost forgotten that he had loaned the man his gloves that morning; the deep pockets of his jacket had kept his hands from needing them back.

"Your leg doing better?"

"It's warming up," Charmer spoke, one hand rubbing at his thigh, before he pulled his right leg up towards his chest; his hands briefly massaging at his knee. The occasional groan that left the man as he worked into the tense muscles hinted that he was a little more worse for wear than he had been letting on. "Your back still hurt?"

"My back always hurts," Drummer Boy replied, as he dropped the paper on the desk top, and seated himself into the small, accompanying chair. As soon as he picked up the pencil, he immediately began writing- a little surprised himself at how quickly he was jotting things down. The walk over here had given him plenty of time to organize his thoughts, and figure out how to lay out the information in his head. He still couldn't figure out what piece of information had gone wrong down the pipeline though. "Feel free to take a shower- the warm water will probably relax you."

Charmer chuckled lightly, mostly to himself as he knitted his hands underneath his thigh- keeping his prosthetic leg suspended still. "It sounds nice, and it would probably be best to get it out of the way before anyone else shows up. But uh... you guys got a stool, or chair in there that I can use? I'm not all that great at the balancing on one leg thing."

Right.

Prosthetics and water weren't exactly a great mix.

"I'm sure there's one sitting around," he started. "Hell, there might even be one in there already if Colada's been staying here."

"Colada?" Charmer questioned.

"If he's still around, you'll know him when you see him," Drummer Boy assured, before he looked back to the man once more. "I mean, I _guess_ I could help you if you really needed it."

The faint tease in his voice was enough for Charmer to grin at.

"I'll think about it."


	3. Chapter 3

Drummer Boy moved his work into the sitting lounge later that evening.

He had spent a few hours or so in the room he shared with Charmer, writing down every piece of information he had memorized, and ensuring again and again that it was correct. No one else but him really knew what needed to circulate throughout all their branches, so he needed to make sure he had his head together. He didn't want the agents to waste their time out there in the wrong spots again.

Timing was delicate around here after all.

After awhile though, he figured he needed a change of scenery to keep his thoughts fresh and working. Not to mention he was working on splitting up the work again, so moving down into the hub of where the agents normally hung out would help him keep their names together.

High-Rise had eight routine agents working here, although an occasional extra showed up from time to time during the work cycles.

He needed to account for everyone.

Not to mention, he figured he had been loud enough for awhile now, and could risk giving Charmer an actual chance to sleep. The man had passed out as soon as they had gotten here, which again, he couldn't blame the man for doing so. Charmer had had a long walk to get here, and would no doubt need to preserve the energy for whatever errands High-Rise needed him for.

So far, so good on everything though.

He knew his work, he knew his information; he knew everything in front of him was right- regardless of what might be argued.

"Working hard, I see," a voice interrupted, causing him to briefly lose his train of thought.

Drummer Boy glanced up at the voice and chuckled lightly as he watched High-Rise climb the nearby staircase- no doubt coming in from out of the cold. And the stairs would be quicker to climb than waiting for the elevator; not to mention, High-Rise liked to keep light on his feet. "Don't you have hand signals to be making in the spot lights or something?" he asked, catching the quiet laugh the man gave in response. "Waiting for your crew to return?"

"Yeah, they have a hard time making it back sometimes," High-Rise remarked; he rubbed his hands together to generate warmth as he made his way into the small lounge, before he headed towards the roasting coffee pot. "Not usually because of outside issues though. They have a tendency of screwing around with one another if they run into each other on the way home. Took Colada and Rent two hours to get back last time because they insisted on an impromptu snowball fight and wouldn't come back until a winner had been officially declared."

Drummer chuckled lightly at the statement- remembering how Glory and Tommy used to act the same way.

_"We would've been back ages ago, Dez, but someone here wanted to take a new shortcut- damn near around the ENTIRE city!"_

_"Lighten up, Whispers- scavenged you that sweet knife, didn't I?"_

"In case you were wondering, Rent won."

Surprise there.

"Well at least you know that they have power in numbers out there then," he spoke as reassurance, watching as the man poured out two cups of semi-fresh coffee. "I'd hate to see the aftermath of whatever might try to take on Colada and Meat at the same time."

High-Rise gave another laugh and picked up the two cups before the man walked back to him- handing one of the cups off to him, before he sat down on the couch across from him. "You know Meat changed her codename, right?"

Drummer Boy glanced up over the cup of coffee, just barely taking the first sip of it. "Changed her codename?" he repeated. "We can do that?"

"See? That's what I said," High-Rise remarked, slumped back against the ratted cushions as he took a sip or two from the steaming mug. "She's 'Butcher' now though, so be sure to call her that when she walks in."

"I'll try to remember," he nodded, before he looked up at the sound of more footsteps coming light up the stairwell. Setting the cup down, he watched as one of High-Rise's agents, White Tide, stumbled into the lounge- eyes barely opened, and dragging his feet.

The man seemed like he had definitely seen better days, or at least had slept better days, as he fumbled to slip the strap of his rifle off. He was one of the fastest agents the Railroad had, what with his long legs and slender build. He could get from Ticonderoga to the Old North Church in under an hour- or at least that was his best time from a few months before; they hadn't had the chance to test it again. For now, he was wrapped up in a thick jacket with the hood pulled low over his face, barely showing the thin five o'clock shadow coming in; he might've been the only guy who shaved around here too.

"White Tide, good to see you again," Drummer Boy offered.

The man barely gave a nod, before he managed to signal out two words. _"Hello. Tired."_

And then proceeded to collapse on the couch on the other side of the lounge.

"It's been a long week for him," High-Rise explained, hooking one arm over the back of the couch. "Old Man Stockton's been up his ass all month about dealing with caravans and Synths."

Once someone dropped Old Man Stockton's name the situation basically explained itself.

While the man was damn good at his job of getting Synths in and out, and good at keeping Bunker Hill under control and safe for their operations... The man could get pretty paranoid about the set up- and quite easily too. He couldn't fault the old guy for being so, after all Bunker Hill was a central hub of trading around here- which was why it was such a great place to work Synths in and out from. But the larger and more active a place was, the bigger of a target it made for the Institute.

Reported Institute spies in the area were always rumored, but there were no 'official' documents on them yet- nothing more than just from word of mouth around here.

"So how's Charmer doing in the grand scheme of things around here?"

Drummer Boy glanced over to the man at the question, catching High-Rise's eyes over the brim of the coffee cup at his lips. "He's doing things," he shrugged in answer. "I mean, for having no training, and basically being yanked into doing things around here, he's uh... He's doing pretty well. Just another number and name to send out into the field."

"Oh come on, with all the work he's been doing over at the HQ, I figured you guys would be singing praise about him," High-Rise spoke. "Hell, Glory was here last month and even spared a compliment or two about his work. Which is something she hasn't done since Tommy left us."

"Well yeah, Charmer's good at what he does," he started in response, "but White Tide is right there. I don't want to make him feel bad."

White Tide, who had been motionless from the moment he hit the couch, summoned enough strength to form another sign with his hand.

This one consisting of just one finger though.

"See?"

High-Rise chuckled and shook his head. "You'd be surprised at the amount of people who assume he's deaf rather than mute. I nearly started a fight on his behalf when we were up at Bunker Hill last week." He paused to take another sip from his cup. "For real though, Charmer came at a good time for us- I'm glad to have him here."

"Well you're not switching him out for one of your agents," Drummer Boy remarked.

"Oh come on- Butcher has been missing you."

He snorted slightly and tried to go back to his notes as he loosely flipped through the papers once more. "... I can't believe she changed her codename. How many years has she been Meat? Three, right? Or has it been four?"

"Hey man, she had it approved by Dez, so there's legitimacy in it," High-Rise spoke. "She's got a hell of a story to go with it too. Apparently she-"

High-Rise was unfortunately cut off by the sound of the elevator suddenly rattling its way up to their floor- hinting that new guests had arrived to check in to Ticonderoga. Just the usual squeaking and grinding of the cords as they were rolled through handcrafted pulleys and jerry-rigged gears.

"Well hell, this might be her now, so I'll let her share the story."

It took a few, loud seconds before the elevator arrived and settled at their floor.

Before the rickety doors jerked open to reveal not one, but _four_ Railroad agents crammed inside of the tight compartment. It was almost as if they were literally packed in there like a bad can of sardines; a mess of limbs and armor shoved into four corners.

The sight was... amusing on its own, if not also a little concerning.

"See? This is the shit I'm talking about," High-Rise sighed- clearing stating that this hadn't been the first time this had occurred.

"There is a weight limit on that thing, you know," Drummer Boy called to the group, watching as they struggled to pull themselves out of the tight space; their hands literally outstretched and grasping for some kind of leverage to pull themselves on. "You cause it to break down, and you might get stuck in there. And High-Rise here might not want to rescue you for breaking the elevator in the first place."

"I will leave you in there overnight," the man assured.

"It wouldn't be the worst place that I've been stuck in overnight," one of the female agents spoke as she successfully freed herself first. She was tall, lean, and moved with unprecedented grace as she gave herself a brief shake down before she started across the small lounge. The signature Railroad armor was missing from her attire, leaving her in just a pair of jeans and a plaid shirt that she left partly unbutton- revealing the dark shirt she wore underneath. A classic disguise for her out in the Commonwealth when she wasn't working in the line of fire.

A bundled sweater in the crook of one arm said that at least she had some protection against the cold out there; the heat of the compact elevator probably convinced her to sweat out of it.

At first glance, there were two notable features to take in about the woman.

The first being her dark skin kissed with patches of white.

And the second being the heavy-looking, freshly polished Assaultron arm that took place of her right forearm.

The woman gave into a long-bodied stretch, before she started across the lounge. "Drummer, it's good to see you- or rather, hear you at least. Been awhile since you've been around, you're like a stranger."

"It's good to see you too, Meat," Drummer Boy replied, before he corrected himself, "or, as High-Rise has told me, Butcher now?" He watched as she grinned and nodded- clearly proud of the name change. "Any reason for it?"

"I killed three Yao Guai last month, two more this month- and I managed to down a Deathclaw last week," she proclaimed, before she raised up her Assaultron arm- spinning the wrist joint as she did so. "I think that's more than enough to justify earning a more respective codename, don't you think?"

Yeah, she had a point there.

Five Yao Guai, and one Deathclaw was certainly nothing to shake your head.

(Really, the Deathclaw alone was a big enough thing).

She must've been sent through one of their more dangerous routes in order to encounter so much wildlife, or maybe the packed snow had forced a detour. With the cold as of lately, the creatures must've gotten desperate at some point and risked leaving their homes to look for an easy target. It was hard to judge when Yao Guai hibernated for the winter, or if they still did to begin with. Sometimes if they didn't have enough fat reserves to live off of, they would sneak out to ambush unsuspecting Radstags still tending to their yearlings.

And judging by the new scars on the woman's jaw, and the patched up rips in her uniform, she was certainly not the easy target they had been expecting.

There was no reason to doubt her stories either, not that he would've.

Meat, or rather Butcher now, was a woman of her word- and her gun.

"Sounds like you finally got retribution for your arm then," he remarked, gesturing to her displayed prosthetic, which she spun once more.

"Yep, for once I wasn't the one kicking and screaming this time," Butcher nodded, as she leaned against the couch High-Rise was seated on, crossing her arms across the back of it. "And I wasn't the one who nearly ran a full mile with my arm gushing out blood like this-"

"Please don't demonstrate the scene again," High-Rise interrupted.

Butcher clicked her tongue and loosely grabbed the man by the shoulders before she gave him a few shakes. "No fun."

"Or at least, that's the story she continues to tell everyone," a large man with a white beard spoke as he filed out of the elevator after everyone else had freed themselves from the tin can deathtrap. He wore the heavy Railroad armor and made it look like an apron against his broad frame.

If Drummer Boy recalled correctly, Tinker Tom actually had to create a suit specifically for the man to wear- taking measurements and everything, and the armor still looked too small. People in the Commonwealth didn't normally get exceedingly big, or tall, or really all that broad, but the man was a big exception to that. Even now it was a little hard to comprehend just how big he was inside the building- it was hard to comprehend how he alone could fit in the elevator, let alone with three other people.

As the man walked through the lounge, his footsteps near thundered underneath him- rattling the loose tiles under his boots. He walked heavy on his right leg though, with a stiff gait as his body leaned more towards the left, as though to counterbalance the unevenness. The mix of a badly-timed explosion, a unit of Gen-1 Synths, and a near three-story drop had shattered his right leg all the way up to his hip. By the time someone had managed to find him, and drag him back to the closest safe house, his leg was so badly mangled it was barely holding on with strings and tendons.

Carrington ended up cutting the leg off at the hip- but constantly expressed that the man was lucky to lose only that much.

By the next year, he was fitted with a leg from a salvaged Gen-2 Synth, and was back in the field.

"But no one can say for sure."

"Oh come on, Colada, you saw the aftermath," Meat, now Butcher, reminded. "I showed you the bone sticking out and everything- even threw up on ya once or twice."

"Is that so? Ah, I can't seem to recall any of that-"

Drummer Boy chuckled lightly as Butcher flipped the larger man the bird before she hopped over the couch and plopped down next to High-Rise. He watched as Colada moved to the coffee pot for a cup, before he turned his attention to the other two women who had removed themselves from the elevator next.

There was Rent, a red-headed, freckled woman who was already in the middle of shedding off her armor- dropping it onto the floor without a care; revealing the simple white shirt and jeans she wore underneath it. Her hair was pinned back into a messy bun, and her face was delicately painted with some scavenged pre-war make up- drawing focus to the woman's green eyes and sharp cheekbones.

And partly covering the large burn scar that took up a good portion of her right cheek, jaw, and neck; the skin still flayed and stretched, although paler and healthier looking than it had been the year before.

And then there was Mockingbird, who had her attention drawn to where White Tide had passed out on the couch. She had propped herself against the back of it, and had one hand trailing loosely up and down his back, causing the sleeping man to twitch from time to time- at least ensuring that he was still breathing. She was still fully dressed in her uniform- she very rarely took it off without being behind a closed door. Her dark skin was barely visible underneath the armor, and the carefully arranged folds of her hijab were starting to come undone after a long day's work.

"Alright, I know you guys are all tired, and probably dead on your feet, but let's get this whole mess sorted and taken care of," High-Rise spoke, as he gestured for everyone to take a seat somewhere. "Since some of you apparently can't listen to instructions-"

"Blame Colada."

"Let's not start any fights- at least not inside," Drummer Boy interrupted. "I'm just going to give everyone new information, new routes, and you'll just have to follow that instead. It should cover all of the same bases that we had before- and it should prevent overlap, so we shouldn't have to worry about two of you guys showing up to the same place again."

Even now, no one seemed to know how the miscommunication had occurred, or at least, no one was stepping up to it.

He hoped it was just an innocent mistake occurring, and that someone out there hadn't tapped into their communications and spread bad info. It was a bit of a far-fetched idea, but with the Institute always on everyone's thoughts, not to mention the highly-trained Brotherhood permanently sitting on the horizon... It was difficult to not feel a little bit paranoid over the whole thing.

For now, at least, it seemed promising that the mess was being cleared up and swept away.

"Have I ever told you that I could listen to you talk all the time?" Butcher interrupted.

"Only every time I'm here."

* * *

 

He finished giving out the new information, and was in the process of double checking the new roles over with everyone when he heard the familiar sound of footsteps coming down the corridor above; heard the heavy steps making their way down the staircase behind him. He caught the slight way everyone looked up at the sound, before they moved back to their notes- going over the information once more.

"Sleep well?" Drummer Boy asked over his shoulder.

"Well enough," Charmer replied, one hand ruffling his loose black hair as he moved to stand next to him- stopping long enough to put his hair back up.

It was a little addicting to watch as the man raked his fingers through his dark hair, gathering and collecting it in a tight grip, before he pulled it back and carefully tied it together. Doing all of it without needing a mirror, and still looking half-asleep, which meant Charmer had gotten into the routine of fixing his hair without needing to see it. Or pay attention to it.

Still a little messy though- not perfect, but suitable.

"I take it this is High-Rise's crew then?"

"Yeah," Drummer Boy nodded, before he gestured to each person with the end of his pencil. "You got Butcher, formally known as Meat, Rent, Mockingbird, the unconscious one is White Tide, and the big guy is Colada. He's the one I was telling you about earlier."

"Why am I always the topic of discussion in other people's pillow talks?" Colada remarked, taking up a good portion of the couch space across from them- even if the man had confined himself to only the corner cushion of it. High-Rise had moved to sit on the same couch as Drummer, choosing not to get crushed by the agents who seemed insistent on squeezing onto one couch together; which was a barely obtainable goal.

The remark was enough to catch him off-guard while Charmer let out a sort of laughing snort next to him.

"It wasn't-" Drummer Boy started.

"That happened ONCE," Rent objected, one hand lightly rubbing at her scarred cheek, before she jabbed the larger man with the pencil in hand. "And it wasn't really even pillow talk, ya cocky bastard. You might be about the size of a planet, but the world sure as hell don't revolve around ya."

Colada just cracked a grin in response to her annoyance.

"We got three more agents on their way," High-Rise spoke up, "you'll probably run into them later though- it's a bit of a walk for them. In case you don't get a formal introduction with them, they're Motherboard, Peacock, and Koi. You can't miss them."

"Sounds promising," Charmer replied, as he sat down on the arm of the couch, somewhat straddling it, before he leaned back against the cushion- moving one arm behind Drummer Boy for additional support. "And suddenly mine doesn't seem so odd now, does it?"

Yeah, true, he might've at one point mentioned the oddity in the man's codename. He had a lot of experience with dealing with codenames, had heard of plenty out-there names, so Charmer didn't really seem like it should sit at the top of his list. And yet it sort of did. Drummer Boy blamed it on the overall fact of who Charmer was, where he came from, and how he got here.

It was the oddity of the man himself that was really worth noting.

"Right, right," Drummer Boy mused, brushing Charmer's remark aside with a slight wave of his hand, before he turned his attention back to the other agents. "In case you haven't heard, and/or met him yet, this is the new recruit, Charmer- although he's not exactly new around here anymore. And I'm sure High-Rise has talked plenty about him by now."

"You did the run with H2-22, right?" Rent questioned.

"Yeah, my first sort of official run with the Railroad, and the first Synth escort I did," Charmer nodded, one hand absent-mindely rubbing at his right knee. Drummer briefly wondered if the cold was still irritating his leg. "I heard he made it out of the Commonwealth safe, which is good news."

"Savor that feeling, my friend," Butcher advised, before she tossed her notes down onto the coffee table between them. "Are we good to go now? Because there's a hot shower calling my name, and I need to heed to its demands."

"As long as you know what you're doing now," Drummer Boy replied.

"I got the jest of it."

Confident answer.

"If you're taking a shower, hold a spot for me," Rent spoke, already at her feet and in the process of collecting her armor from the floor.

"I got ya, babe."

Alright, well until the other three agents got here, there wasn't much left for him to do.

The slight ache behind his eyes told him that he had definitely been up for too long though- and that he could afford a few hours to sleep and recharge himself. He wouldn't be much good around here if he was slow and uncoordinated after all.

"Charmer, I have a proposition for you," Colada started, waiting for both Rent and Mockingbird to get up, before he hoisted himself off of the couch next. "There's a supermarket not too far from here that I need to clear out- High-Rise here thinks it'll become an issue if I don't take care of it soon."

"Which it will," High-Rise shadowed.

"Everyone here talks about what great work you're doing, and I need to see you in proper action," the man finished. "Shouldn't take more than a few hours with the two of us both in there."

Drummer Boy glanced over to where Charmer was rubbing at his face once more, probably a little numb if the man had slept on it. And seeing how twisted Charmer's sleeping pose had been before he left, he wouldn't be surprised.

"Yeah, sure, let's go wild," Charmer replied. "I'll just go get some of my things together and meet you back here."

Colada cracked a wide grin in response. "I'm glad to hear it."

"Just remember to be safe out there," High-Rise started, as he got to his feet, and brushed himself off. "Remember when you hit that ice patch last month? Nearly displaced your whole hip rig and everything. You're a big guy, Colada, the only thing that could take you out is yourself- so keep an eye out for ice patches and potholes. And remember, feral ghouls cluster around places that are still warm, so that supermarket is gonna be like opening a bad can of worms."

"I hear ya, boss," Colada replied, as he clapped a heavy hand onto High-Rise's shoulder- nearly sinking the man back into the couch with the motion. "I have to grab a few things from my room as well- let's meet back here in, say, ten minutes or so."

"Sounds good."

Drummer Boy folded up the rest of his notes and got to his feet as he shoved them into his jacket pocket for safe-keeping. "Alright, well I'm gonna head back up and work on some things- let me know when the other three get here if I don't hear them first."

"Will do," High-Rise nodded, before he clapped a hand on his shoulder. "And thanks again for coming all the way out here for this."

"No problem."

He made his way back up the stairs and down the narrow corridor, barely avoiding Rent and Butcher as the two raced one another down to the showers- laughing as they did so. As far as he knew, from what High-Rise had mentioned before, Butcher, Mockingbird, and White Tide were staying the night, while Colada and Rent were heading back out- either for the thrill, or to get a jumpstart on their new jobs. Which meant that Rent was probably just wanting to warm up for a bit before heading back out into the cold.

As much as timing was of the essence around here, the new roles could've waited until morning.

Nighttime had fallen already, and the temperature outside had dropped even further- not to mention a new coating of snow was coming down as well. It was a recipe for a disastrous, miserable night, so he didn't see why someone would willingly want to go out into it.

Charmer included.

Shouldering the room door aside, Drummer Boy stepped in and felt the catch of the door as Charmer caught it behind him; he hadn't been aware that the man had been following so close.

"Tell me I'm not making a mistake by going out with Colada with night just around the corner," the man spoke, already working to get some of his things together- snagging his bag from where it had been kicked underneath his bed.

"Eh, I'll guess you'll just have to find out for yourself," he replied- chuckling lightly at the low groan that escaped the man. "I mean, for the lack of better words, you're both a little lacking in the leg department, and you're both going out into the freezing cold with night coming, all so you can head down to the local Super Duper Mart to take out some ghouls or something. Maybe Super Mutants if you're lucky. Sounds like a perfect plan to me- just make sure that you come back alive, and mostly in one piece- and don't get lost. Dez will have my head if I don't bring you back to HQ with me."

Charmer gave a quiet laugh as he grabbed his jacket and pulled it on- moving some of his extra ammo into those pockets instead for easier retrieval. "Don't worry, I've survived one frozen prison before, I'll survive this."

Yeah, that was one way of putting it.

Drummer Boy shook his head, and stepped back to move out of the man's way- which wasn't easy to do. The two of them still managed to bump arms and bump into one another as they tried to shift out of each other's way. "Alright, knock yourself out then."

"Not worried about me being out there in the cold and darkness?" Charmer teased, pausing as the man tried to step around him between the desk and bed- somewhat pinning the two of them there for the time being.

"Colada's a good man to have watching your back, so I know you're in good hands," he shrugged, as he wrestled his notes out of his pocket and tossed them onto the desk behind Charmer. "Seriously though, High-Rise was right about what he said earlier- keep an eye out for any and all ice, and any potholes that might've been covered by the snow. Colada's a big guy with a big sense of confidence, but one wrong slip would be enough to take him out- and you as well. And the last thing anyone around here needs to do is go on a midnight rescue mission."

"Whatever you say, Carrington," Charmer sarcastically remarked, as he double checked himself before he moved back to his bed to pull his gun out from underneath his pillow. He seemed to relish the weight of it in his hand, before he slipped it into his jacket. "Alright, well I think I'm good to go now- don't miss me too much."

"You're practically already gone to me," Drummer replied.

Charmer shook his head and chuckled lightly as he made his move to leave- squeezing past him once more to get to the door. Not before the man slipped one arm around him, and pulled him in close, allowing him to feel the warmth of his breath against his face; the warmth of the man's lips as they just barely brush against his forehead.

"Stay warm for me."

* * *

 

Drummer Boy managed to catch a few hours of sleep, just enough to work off the impending exhaustion and headache.

The slight lingering chill in the air slowed down his attempts to force himself awake and out of bed- elongating the process by half hour. But the second half of High-Rise's team would be coming in soon, and he needed to make sure that they were personally informed, and had their new assignments as well.

Rubbing at the back of his neck, he glanced over to the empty bed adjacent to his, and remembered that Charmer had set out for the night; a risky move, but the man seemed daring enough on his own. Plus it wasn't like anyone could rightly stop him from doing what he wanted to do. He just hoped that the man took his advice and was being careful out there. And warm as well.

The Railroad couldn't afford to lose someone else- especially not to the cold.

Grabbing his notes, Drummer Boy headed out of the tight room and down the corridor- making his way towards the lounge once more.

He couldn't say that he was surprised to see that the place wasn't empty.

It hardly ever was.

"Don't you have a bedtime?" Drummer remarked as he set his notes down on the same table, before he moved to grab a cup of coffee from the freshly brewed pot. Well, the word fresh should probably be used loosely; the coffee grounds themselves were over two hundred years old.

It was worth noting that White Tide was gone- either having gone back to his room on his own, or having someone else lug him up there.

"Ha ha," Butcher replied from where she was on the other couch hunched over an old game of Solitaire. "No one sleeps around here," she reminded, taking a brief pause before she continued. "Motherboard got back ahead of schedule and brought home, get this, not one, but TWO Synths; apparently our informant in the Institute didn't realize that the two of them had managed to escape together. Anyways, they needed an extra bed, and since they're going to have a rough day tomorrow, I figured what the hell. I never sleep anyways."

Surprising.

An extra Synth was very rare to have- they were usually just lucky if the reported Synth managed to make it out alive.

"Have you thought about changing your name to 'Soft Cut' instead?" Drummer Boy asked, as he carried the fresh cup back to the couch and settled in. Only to barely avoid the ratted cushion that was tossed at him a few seconds later. "In all seriousness though, it was a nice move on your behalf. Not that sleep is really required for them, but they're going to have a rough day tomorrow if they choose to undergo the memory wipe and facial reconstruction."

Butcher gave a shrug, and flipped a card or two out of her aged deck. "They don't really have much of a choice in the matter."

"Glory did," he reminded, only to correct himself. "Then again, we don't get many like her."

"Amen to that," Butcher nodded, before adding. "We don't get many like Charmer either."

"Yeah well, we don't have many cryogenic vaults just sort of lying around, waiting to be open," Drummer Boy remarked. "And not too many two hundred year old war vets from long before the bombs dropped. And certainly not many who would willingly jump so quickly into the fray." He paused for a moment, mindlessly shuffling through his scribbled notes. "So no, we don't have too many like Charmer- if we did, we wouldn't be in the situation we are right now."

Butcher was quiet for a moment, either contemplating what he had just said, or just focused on her game for now.

And it took a few seconds to linger on his own words before he realized how backhanded they might've sounded like. Charmer was important to the Railroad, yes; right now, it might've even felt like he was the most important person that they had. But they had plenty of other agents too- damn good agents like Glory, like Butcher, like Colada, and everyone else who worked in the Commonwealth.

Like everyone else who put their lives on the line for Synths.

And he had inadvertently cut them all down.

"That wasn't suppose to sound like I was undermining your work-"

"Hey, he got the Courser chip, and he got us some data- it's more progress than we've had in months," Butcher interrupted. "I'm good in the field, but Coursers aren't any of my business; I'd rather be in a Yao Guai's jaw than anywhere near a Courser. I'm sure you could attest to that."

He rubbed at the back of his neck, and admitted that she had a good point. The dull throbbing in his back that was making its way up to his ribs was a constant reminder that a Yao Guai certainly didn't sound as bad anymore. It was worth admitting that, inside of the Railroad, there was a reason they had agents, and Heavies- and why the two weren't interchangeable.

"Charmer's codename fits him though- got that pre-war charm about him," Butcher continued, as she carried on with her game- only to glance in his direction, one eyebrow somewhat arched. "Pretty cute with the whole no radiation thing too."

Drummer Boy gave a half-hearted chuckle, and avoided her eyes as he tried to seem focused on his notes instead. "Yeah- I guess."

Butcher gave a hearty laugh in response. "Oh come on, like I didn't notice the way you two were acting around each other before."

Now that was an interesting comment to make, especially considering that Charmer didn't show up until the tail end of their discussion- and then immediately left with Colada a few minutes later. There really wasn't much to take between them- unless Butcher was referring to how Charmer insistently sat on the arm of the couch next to him, and kept his arm propped up behind him. But both of those were pretty harmless gestures, and a bit of a stretch even for Butcher.

"I mean, you two are even sharing a room-"

"You and Motherboard are sharing a room too," Drummer Boy reminded. "We have all shared rooms with one another at some point or another. The same situation goes back at the HQ; it's been going on since Switchboard."

"So you're saying that nothing is going on between you two?" she pressed. "Then you wouldn't mind me moving in?"

He knew she was just teasing him- trying to get under his skin like she always did.

This was just a game to her, and since there was little else to do at this time of night, he figured it wouldn't hurt to play the game in return.

"I didn't say that," he remarked, as he leaned back against the couch now- watching as she did the same in mirror. "I was just implying that you need to have better evidence at your disposal before you come in here making assumptions."

Butcher cracked a grin at him. "I hate you, Drummer."

"The feeling is mutual, Meat," he replied, watching as she went back to her game now, while he needed to get back to his work.

"It's _Butcher_."

"Sorry, force of habit."

It was an honest lapse in memory, a comforting turn to habit.

He had known her as Meat for so long after all, knowing her as someone else was going to take him some time. But he was used to learning new names, new faces, so it shouldn't take long for him catch on.

Such a minor detail, and yet, it clung to him.

"Yeah well, the next time it's a force of habit, I'm gonna force your habit."

He snorted slightly, and tried to drown the laugh out with another drink of coffee. "It's just... weird that you changed your codename."

"Yeah, Dez said it was unheard of- or at least, no one had ever come to her about it," Butcher nodded. "We're really not given much time to pick and choose, and once it's picked, it's basically settled. After awhile, you just get used to it. I mean, I was happy as Meat, but I think I'm happier as Butcher."

"Glad to hear it," Drummer Boy replied, catching the lingering smile on the woman's lips as she shuffled the cards in her hand. He wondered if she was still even playing Solitaire anymore, or if she was just throwing cards around. "You know, it's kind of weird how the codename makes who you are- kind of makes me start to wonder if we're in the same boat as the Synths. I mean, we change our names, some of us change our faces, and in the end, we're all running from the same thing."

"That's interesting way of looking in on it," she remarked.

He gave a partial shrug, but the idea was already stuck to him now. "I know a lot of people ditched after Switchboard, and I can't blame them for wanting to return to a normal life around here. But I kind of wonder if the situation had been more controlled, if we had had more power, would we have asked any one of them who wanted to run to have their memories wiped too? To protect the Railroad, to protect the Synths- one slip up was all it took for us to nearly get wiped at Switchboard after all." A brief pause as one hand rubbed at the back of his neck. "You kind of have to ask yourself where do we begin and end in this kind of business?"

Silence.

If only momentarily.

"Well it's a good thing I wasn't planning on sleeping tonight, because that's not necessarily something I wanted to sleep on," Butcher spoke. "But now that the thought's there, I guess you have a point. We're all sort of sharing the same plight here- to varies degrees, of course, but still."

Exactly.

"So let me ask you something," Drummer Boy started once more, "since you've changed your codename, do you still remember your real name? Who you were before you were Meat, before you were Butcher?"

Another short pocket of silence.

The woman let out a low whistle and rubbed at the back of her head, before she answered. "I... think so?"

"You don't sound so confident."

"Well it's not like anyone has asked me that before- it's something we all kind of try to avoid," Butcher remarked. "But now that you mention it, it's been awhile since I thought about it. We all get kind of lost in the facade, don't we? Lost in this illusion, in this extended play." A brief pause, and then quiet. "Do you remember yours?"

"Sometimes."

* * *

 

Drummer Boy almost wanted to laugh at the sight of Charmer when the man returned by early morning.

He had still been down in the lounge, killing time by working on some other pieces of work he had brought with him. Butcher had turned in an hour or so before after failing to beat herself at her own card game. And after Motherboard had departed for Goodneighbor with her two Synths in tow- bundled up to cover their faces, and any identifying marks on them. He had considered stepping out for some fresh air, maybe take a walk around the city with High-Rise, when he heard the elevator grind its way up to the lounge.

Charmer looked near frostbitten and red when he stepped out of the elevator- clearly freezing, but looking thoroughly amused just the same. It was almost as though his lips had been frozen into a permanent grin. Despite the winter harshness outside, it seemed like he had definitely enjoyed himself regardless of the snow and cold.

"I like Colada," Charmer started, moving stiff with his good leg as he shuffled across the lounge. "He really knows how to party out there."

"I can see that," Drummer Boy remarked, as he got to his feet to at least offer some assistance to the man. "Then again, there's not too many things out there that are bigger than him. Come on, let's get you upstairs, and hopefully out of those wet clothes before you catch something."

"Jackpot."

He ignored the less than subtle remark, and moved to help Charmer up the staircase- although his stiff limbs made it a little more difficult than he had anticipated. He kept one hand anchored to the man's shoulder, and the other across his back, trying to keep his own clothes from getting wet as well.

"Yeah, I can definitely understand that," Charmer nodded, teeth slightly chattering as they made it back to their shared room. "Dude took on a Reaver like it was nothing."

"You should see him take on a Super Mutant," Drummer replied, watching as Charmer's numb hands struggled to work open his wet, snow-covered jacket off; the man was eventually successful in wiggling out of it, before he let it slump to the floor. The secondary jacket he wore under it was just as equally cold as it clung uncomfortably to his skin and body. He helped to pull Charmer's bag off his shoulder and carefully kicked it back underneath his bed. "We used to host bets on which one weighed more."

Charmer gave a cold laugh as Drummer help him out of his second jacket next, leaving behind just the plaid shirt he was so accustomed to wearing. "I'd be willing to bet on Colada."

"That was my bet too."

A subtle brush against the man's arms and hands revealed his skin to be freezing to the touch still.

Just how long had he been outside exposed to the elements?

And why didn't he come back sooner if it had gotten so cold?

Drummer Boy sighed and briefly rubbed at the man's forearms- trying to work some color other than red back into his skin. "Why don't you take a hot shower and try to warm up before you go into shock?" he offered. "You can even claim the first one of the day."

"Sounds good," Charmer nodded, the light chattering of his teeth near audible at this point. "If I can make it there anyways. Christ, it feels like I got frostbite on toes that aren't even there."

"Yeah, you definitely need to get warmed up then," Drummer Boy replied, before he moved one arm around Charmer's waist. "Come on, let's get you down to the showers while you can still move."

"Taking care of me now, are we?" Charmer teased, as he followed him regardless and stepped back out into the tight hallway with him.

"Like I said, can't show up back at HQ if you're dead."

He lead the man down the corridor to their right, and took one of the makeshift ramps down to the lower floor, where the bathrooms resided. The shower room was semi-refurbished, semi-remodeled to where it took up two rooms instead of just one. High-Rise himself re-did all the plumbing and such to make it work- insisting that such commodities were necessary for his agents. That was why it usually went without saying that the man really did have one of the best safe houses available in the Commonwealth.

The shower itself was decent enough size- big enough to fit three people somewhat comfortably in it. But knowing everyone around here, they probably tried to cram in five or six of them at once.

It wasn't quite like the communal showers they had had down at the original Mercer safe house, but it was close enough. Ticonderoga had hot water at least.

And thankfully, there was already a chair provided inside of the shower cell.

Probably courtesy of Colada.

Drummer Boy released Charmer and moved to get the shower ready and going. Even the shower knobs felt somewhat new, which meant that High-Rise, or someone else, must've found them, or scavenged them from somewhere. An odd sort of thing to look out for, but he wouldn't complain- nor was he really surprised. High-Rise had an odd attention to detail for these sort of things.

He held his hand underneath the running water and felt it slowly warm its way up to an above-average heat.

It felt nice against the cold skin that had touched Charmer.

It would certainly be something he might take advantage of later when he wasn't busy.

"Alright, you should be good to go," Drummer Boy started as he stepped away and turned back towards Charmer, who had already wrestled himself out of his snow-caked boots and shirt. "You can lock the door if you want, but if there's a line outside, just leave the water going- it'll put less stress on the tank."

Charmer numbly nodded as he tossed the plaid shirt onto the sink nearby, before he stripped off his white undershirt next.

Drummer Boy made sure to look away before the man had completely peeled his shirt off- slightly pulling his hat down to block the sight. "You should be fine from here, so I'll head on out and hang your jackets to dry. You probably shouldn't go anywhere else any time soon, so take as much time as you need to to defrost.

"Don't worry about me, I certainly will," Charmer replied with a quiet laugh, as he rubbed at his biceps to hopefully get the blood flowing again. "Hey, just one more thing before you go."

He felt Charmer's hand brush against his arm as he moved to leave, felt blue fingers slightly tangling in the folds of his sleeve. "I'll just be upstairs, it can wait-" he started to assure, more focused on getting the man warmed up again before sickness fell upon him. Unless it already had.

But Drummer Boy felt Charmer's fingers wrap around his arm now, slightly pulling him back towards the man- and an accidental peek at the gesture reminded him that Charmer was still, in fact, shirtless at the moment. The agent's other hand lightly grabbed at his jaw, and the skin of Charmer's palm was near blistering cold against his face. It was enough to stop him now as he focused on how Charmer was leaning down towards him now.

As he felt the colder press of the man's lips against his own now.

Rough and chapped from the winter wind outside.

Charmer was cold, there was no denying that, but the weight and pressure of the man against his lips was near enough to make him melt.

He stumbled to figure out how to react, how to respond, but his body seemed to make a few choices long before his mind could settle on one. His hand moved to brush against Charmer's jaw, circling against its broad shape, before he risked the cold contact and braced his palm against the man's freezing skin anyways. He let himself focus on the press of the man's lips against his own, on the subtle movement as Charmer moved to press his body to him as well.

It lingered a chill on his lips, in his mouth.

"Is there a reason for this?" Drummer Boy questioned, quiet and somewhat breathless when Charmer finally released him. He didn't want him to- even if the chill from Charmer's lips had moved onto his.

"Apparently the cold makes me sentimental," Charmer answered, kissing him short and quick a second time; a momentary pause in conversation. "It makes me think- do you mind if I kiss you?" A slight interjection.

"Not opposed to it," he replied. "I just assumed you got tired of me yanking you around."

Charmer chuckled lightly this time, and kissed him a third time. "The cold reminds me of the Vault, of the years lost and wasted... How something, how someone so important can be ripped away from you in the blink of the eye. How you can go from having everything, to having nothing. And this business is cruel. Everyone always remarks how we're all working on borrowed time, how we just work until the next big setback arrives. The timing is not... perfect, but we're both alive in this moment, and the cold reminds me to cherish that while I still can."

Drummer Boy didn't get a chance to respond, not that he felt he had anything to say in response, before Charmer's lips were back on his.

Before he felt the heat of his mouth, of his tongue as they spilled against his own.

Legs stumbled as they moved back, a mix of jointed pushing and pulling until Charmer had him pressed against the nearest wall- hands tangling themselves in his jacket. His hands touched as Charmer's chest, feeling the bare skin of it against his fingertips as they curled underneath the man's collarbones. He wanted to move them, wanted to scope out the man's body, wanted to feel it move underneath him.

But it hardly seemed fair.

Charmer was at a disadvantage considering he was already partly unclothed.

It hardly seemed to matter though as he felt Charmer's hands wrestle underneath his jacket, underneath his shirt- as he felt hungry fingers curl and prod against his skin, spreading the chill from the outside against him.

He gripped at the back of Charmer's neck, anchoring the man to him, as his other hand moved own to his chest- feeling the subtle build of muscle underneath his palm. Feeling the subtle way Charmer pushed against him, pressing his chest into his own, causing his fingers to stumble down to the man's exposed abdomen instead; his fingers raked through the thick mess of hair that trailed down along the curve of his underbelly.

"Peyton," he managed to mutter out between kisses, still feeling the lingering heat of Charmer's tongue in his mouth between each break.

Charmer stopped for a moment, a subtle break in motion. "Who?"

And he realized that there was truth in his conversation with Butcher from before. The name sounded foreign, sounded heavy on his tongue- for a moment, he was almost convinced he didn't know where it had come from. Briefly wondered if maybe it was a name Doctor Amari had stuck into his head.

But he knew it wasn't.

Knew it was a name he hadn't spoken in years now.

"That's my name," Drummer Boy answered. "You're Elijah, and I'm Peyton."

 


	4. Chapter 4

It started off with a subtle tremor that stirred him from sleep.

Drummer Boy hadn't necessarily been all that tired when he laid back down a few hours before- in fact he had somewhat assigned himself to working with High-Rise on a few around-the-building projects.

But Charmer had still been cold, and completely exhausted when the man re-emerged from his shower; when he had stumbled his way back into their shared room, quick to sit down and take his prosthetic off again- half-mumbling something about wet skin in a cold compression sock. Drummer Boy had pretended to know what the man was talking about, if anything just to get Charmer to get some needed rest.

Drummer Boy would admit that he had been the one to insist such a thing, figuring Charmer needed to get a few more hours of sleep to shake off the overnight feral ghoul killing spree; he just didn't exactly expect Charmer to drag him off to bed with him. But the man had still been complaining about the chill under his skin, about the shiver in his bones, and it was hard not to consider sharing body heat just to take the edge off.

(It wouldn't have been the first time he had done so anyways).

But the moment Charmer had him wrapped up in his arms, and tangled in the loose covers of the bed, he couldn't exactly move away.

The moment he felt Charmer's warm breath hit the skin of his neck, felt the soothing, relaxed slack of Charmer's body against his own, Drummer Boy resigned himself to spending a little more than just a few minutes with him.

After all, a few extra hours of sleep on his end wouldn't be too bad of a thing.

Thankfully he wasn't needed for anything dire, and no one needed him to repeat the information from the day before.

Groaning softly, Drummer Boy half-expected someone to be shaking him awake when he came to, but the sensation didn't continue on. It was probably nothing- or at least nothing more than someone just dropping something out in the hallway. The floors of Ticonderoga were pretty thin so even the slightest of things falling could make it feel like the whole building was shaking and coming apart.

He tried to convince himself to ignore it, which was fairly easy to do seeing as the slightest of movements drew his attention to the occasional, tightening sensation around his waist. Glancing over his shoulder, Drummer Boy looked back to where Charmer was half-buried against him- to where Charmer's face was lightly rubbing against his back as the man was forced to make himself comfortable once more.

All he had done was slightly turn away from the man, just barely even that much, and yet Charmer was quick to follow after him.

Drummer Boy couldn't help but to chuckle lightly at the sight, at the feeling of the man's arms settling against him once more, before he tried to settle back in himself. Seeing as he couldn't get up even if he wanted to, he guessed he didn't have a choice but to stick around and make himself comfortable while he was at it. It wasn't too much to ask for a lazy day from time to time, and considering how they had both been working overtime for quite awhile now, moments like this would keep them from burning out completely.

Moments like this would keep them sane in the long run.

"You're more trouble than you're worth, Charmer," Drummer Boy whispered, quiet and low to himself, a subtle tease that the man would never hear.

But Charmer did, and Drummer Boy felt those arms squeeze around his midsection once again.

"Well, I'll have you know that I'm worth a lot in these parks," the man muttered, wedged somewhere between Drummer Boy's shoulders, and the back of his neck. Charmer was a good conductor of heat himself once his skin was no longer red and blistered, and his blood was properly pumping. There was an obvious pool of warmth where the two of them were pressed together, a mess of Charmer's hugging arms, and kneeing legs. "Which I guess says a lot about how much trouble I am."

He chuckled quietly, and moved one hand down to brush against Charmer's, knitted and tight against his abdomen. Drummer Boy felt the easy way they came unraveled at his touch though; he felt the way now-warmed fingers moved to tangle with his own- grasping and messy in their own right. No longer stiff and frozen, barely able to curl into a fist, but now able to curl desperately against his knuckles.

"A lot more than you will ever know."

Charmer laughed this time, muffled quiet against the back of his coat. "It's part of my appeal," he insisted, and Drummer Boy swore he could feel the man's grin against his back. "It's probably how I managed to attract you to me in the first place."

Drummer Boy snorted softly at the cocky response- taking in Charmer's amused tone with the words; the man certainly seemed to be priding himself on the catch. He squeezed Charmer's fingers between his own, feeling the roughness of the man's skin- still battered from the cold outside. It would be worth seeing if he could borrow some of Rent's homemade lotion when the agent returned. It was in high demand around this time of year when everyone's skin was chapped and dried out from the blistering winds- especially Rent's.

"Let's get one thing straight here," Drummer Boy started, " _you_ came for me first."

Charmer gave a subtle, loose scoff at the words. "You were the one who started all the teasing," he retorted.

"Me? _You_ were the one who kept flirting with me on the staircase."

"You were the one who kept _meeting_ me there."

Charmer could be very persistent when he wanted to be.

Drummer Boy feigned a hefty sigh. "See what I mean? More trouble than you're worth," he remarked, only to hear Charmer give another muffled laugh. He felt the man curl up closer to him, felt the more pronounced press of the man's forehead against the back of his shoulder- the pronounced pool of heat between them as Charmer purposely squeezed in closer.

And maybe he should've considered the thinness of the walls around them a little more with this conversation,

Maybe he should've considered that the other agents were probably getting a little too much of their conversation right now.

But Drummer Boy brushed it aside- knowing well that he had heard plenty enough, and plenty worse, through thin walls before. Especially at Ticonderoga.

"You even held my hair back when I was throwing up that one time- I mean, come on, that's a commitment," Charmer insistingly continued.

_Commitment._

Drummer Boy had to admit that the word hit him a little harder than expected- not that he was expecting the word to come up. He rolled it around in his head for a few seconds, letting it echo off other memories of that same word spoken over and over again. The same word, commitment, spoken from different people, in different phrases, each with different meanings.

Each spoken with a different purpose, a different roll of the tongue- different annunciation.

_"We each have a commitment to make to the Synths, to the Railroad."_

_"We have to be committed to the job- we're the only ones they got."_

(It was all about business).

_"You and me Pey', it'd be a fun thing, don't you think? I mean this whole operation is about making commitments, what's one more?"_

(The last one dug a little harder than he was willing to admit to).

He eventually let the word sink in.

Let it make a home for itself where it could- a new placeholder for future memories, or something to look back on later.

He wished he could say that it settled well with him though.

"Is that what we are, Charmer? A commitment?" Drummer Boy questioned, a little quieter now- a little more hushed. Not exactly sure where he was going with the conversation- unsure if he even wanted to go with it.

There was a small pocket of silence behind him, and it left him to wonder if Charmer was going through the same revelation. Going through memories and thoughts of that word, of the idea. He didn't think that the man was- after all, Charmer was pre-war. He didn't know much of what it was like to live in this kind of world, to live this kind of life. To fall in love with someone who was only going to get shot and killed the next day.

But that would be marking up Charmer too quickly.

That man had seen war, been a part of it- had lived it.

Had suffered from it when he pulled himself out of that vault alone- a victim of a world he had never even seen.

Charmer knew what it was like.

The silence was punctured by a long inhale from the other man; a steady breath.

"Yeah," Charmer whispered, clear and semi-easy it would seem. Charmer's body turned tense as the man pulled himself into whatever stretch he could without moving, too comfortable to change the way they were currently fitting together. The man briefly unfolded his arms, leaving behind a cold place where they once were, only to pull them back warm, and tight again against Drummer Boy's ribs. "I mean, I don't know if you were waiting for me to do, or say something, and I don't really know how things around here work, but... I do want this."

Another moment of silence, a stilled breath against the back of Drummer Boy's neck.

Contemplation maybe.

"I want you, and maybe this is moving too fast, but-"

"You have to be fast," Drummer Boy interrupted. "Not just in this kind of business, but... just overall. You never know when something's going to be happen, or when your last day is going to be. Sometimes it _just_ happens, and... If you're the one left behind, there's nothing you can do but pick up the pieces and hope you got all of them."

Silence again.

It was fitting, but also enough to make Drummer Boy wonder if he had said too much, had spoken too much from thought, from experience.

The hollowed throbbing in his own chest seemed to agree.

This wasn't exactly the place to reminisce, but it wasn't something that could just be ignored either. He was still alive in this day and age, which was enough to say that he had had plenty of experience with picking up the pieces; he still had to count them from time to time- some of them still raw and bloodied in his hands.

And Charmer... he was still brushing the frost off of his.

He was still mending a life broken by bombs, and a life ended by a single bullet underground.

Charmer pulled him in close once more though, and Drummer Boy admitted he was a little surprised by the action. And admitted further that he was surprised by the warm lips that carefully pressed against the back of his neck- sending a small shiver down the curve of his spine. Drummer Boy felt the way Charmer's hands untangled and released themselves from his own just before they slid up along his chest; he felt fingers curl into the front of his jacket, bundling the thick material between fists, and anchoring him.

"So is this something real, or just a spurred moment made out of the fear of being alone?" Charmer whispered.

And Drummer Boy felt he had reasons to believe that this was not the first time Charmer had asked such a specific question.

"Just live in the moment, Charmer; it's a lot easier that way."

Not exactly hopeful, or inspiring, but brutally truthful- brutally honest.

Something that they were both inclined to believe instead.

Drummer Boy felt the man release him for a moment, felt the loss of heat as Charmer started to pull away; felt the loss of weight as Charmer's arms came undone from around him, as fingers gave up their hold on his jacket. He hated to admit that there was that small hint of panic, that small surge of maybe he had said too much too soon. That maybe he hadn't been confident enough, been supportive enough in this decision- in this would-be commitment.

That he had been too hesitant.

"Oh God, why have I been lying on my leg this entire time?" Charmer groaned instead, a rhetorical tone acting as secondary, as he rolled flat onto his back now- wrestling his arm out from underneath Drummer Boy.

Drummer Boy frowned at the quiet outburst, before he pushed himself up enough to look over at Charmer, and watched as the man rubbed at his right thigh. It was a little odd to see the man without his prosthetic on- in fact, it was a little rare to see him without it; and more so rare to even see the prosthetic itself. By first glance, no one would've even know that Charmer was missing the lower half of his right leg.

So to see the man without it, even if the remaining portion was still covered by the slackness of his jeans, was a little new- a little personal.

Drummer Boy watched as Charmer lifted his thigh just enough for him to knit his hands underneath his knee, before he pulled the leg towards his chest. It was a subtle stretch technique Drummer Boy had seen a few other amputee agents do when they were resting- either about to lie down, or get up from bed. He wasn't sure what it did, but everyone seemed to do it. Although Carrington advised against do it lying down.

"I hate to say it, Charmer, but... there's not much of a leg to remember."

It was enough to spur a laugh out of the man once more.

"Hey, there's still half of it," Charmer reminded, as he reached over and placed a hand on Drummer Boy's chest- letting it linger just before he loosely pushed him back." I can't believe I kissed you yesterday with that mouth- don't look at me."

He couldn't help but to laugh at the man's mock sense of anger. "It's nothing I haven't seen before," Drummer Boy remarked.

"Don't care," Charmer replied, as he briefly moved the limb around in his hands, subtly working out the muscle tension, before he released it and laid it back flat. Maybe it was because the man caught him still staring, but Charmer seemed provoked enough to explain. "Sometimes when that phantom limb thing kicks in, I forget that the leg's not there anymore- start thinking I can do whatever I want, you know? It doesn't hurt all that much, but it's just really annoying, and inconvenient sometimes. Especially when I'm not supposed to lie on it, but I do, and it gets all swollen and doesn't fit in the prosthetic correctly."

Charmer was one of the lucky ones then.

Plenty of the Railroad agents here suffered from the same kind of phantom pain.

Colada had had it really bad that first year, but it seemed to have calm down for now- either that, or the man had stopped talking about it. No, Colada was brash, and loud, but he didn't try to overcompensate for anything; he was honest about things. So if his hip was still hurting, he would've said plenty by now; he would've taken himself off the field to ensure that it was getting proper rest and proper medical attention.

Drummer Boy felt Charmer's hand at his chest once more- only this time it was pushing him back down before he watched as Charmer rolled himself towards him. He watched as the man moved over him now; Charmer's good leg swinging over his hips, while a hand had to catch the pillow underneath him- allowing the man to steady himself as he successfully straddled his waist now.

Drummer Boy caught the slightest hint of Charmer's warm breath against his face, before Charmer pushed himself back onto his knees. The hand from before remained on his chest, while Charmer's other hand moved to brace itself against his right thigh as the man seemed inclined to straightened himself up- keeping his hips and back straight with the new position.

It was a little hard not to notice the slight grimace on Charmer's face as he did so, even though the expression quickly weaned itself off as the man settled in.

"It's a stretch I have to do."

Drummer Boy chuckled at the words, at the likely excuse. "Yeah, sure, I've heard that one before."

Charmer laughed once more and pulled himself into another stretch- pulling his body upward as he did so. And as much as Drummer Boy would've liked to ignore it, it was difficult to not want to watch Charmer do so. Then again, with the man quite literally sitting on top of him, it was impossible to even try and focus on something other than Charmer.

The man seemed persistent with being his center of attention right now.

"Can I ask you something?" Drummer Boy questioned, before deciding it best to elaborate. "- about your leg."

"What about it?"

"How long did you have it before the bombs dropped?"

Charmer furrowed his brow slightly at the question, and for a moment, Drummer Boy worried that it might've been too soon to ask; it might've been too personal to ask. Seeing his leg, and hearing the story of losing it was one thing, but not a lot of people wanted to talk about how long it might've been since. It brought up too many memories, too many could've-been scenarios running over and over again.

Only a few seconds though, before Drummer Boy realize that Charmer seemed to be more in thought than anything.

"The bombs fell in 2077," Charmer started, rolling his neck in one clean motion, before the gesture rolled down along his body- working out the last of his stiffness. "I got shot in November of 2075, so I didn't get this leg until the following January of 2076- and I went through a few prototypes with varying degrees of success beforehand." He scratched lightly at his jaw now, working on some dates, and touching at where a five o'clock shadow was making face. "It was late October in 2077, so I had had the leg for almost two years before the bombs."

"That's not very long," Drummer Boy remarked, unsure exactly of why he had imagined it being longer. Maybe it was how the man handled himself, how he portrayed himself- how he took care of himself with it.

"No, not really," Charmer admitted with a shrug. "But what can you do, you know? It's two hundred years later, and there really aren't any of my kind of doctors hanging around. I had to learn to just roll with the punches, and hope the thing holds out like it was promised to." A slight pause now as the man settled back- one hand moving to grasp at his stunted knee, once more checking on it. "Why the curiosity?"

"I don't know," he replied, "just got curious I guess. Normally when I see you, you already have your leg on."

Charmer lightly chuckled and moved his free hand to brush the loose strands of black hair from his face. "I know- how scandalous," he mused, teasing, before he scooted himself back- giving himself room to lean down.

Drummer Boy once more felt the heat of the man's breath on his face, on his lips, as Charmer shifted down onto one forearm to support himself; as Charmer shifted his body down on top of his own- just barely allowing his body weight to touch him. He felt the subtle tremor in his chest from the sudden attention, but Drummer Boy didn't move; he didn't want to move out from underneath Charmer's weight. It felt like security on top of him, a subtle acknowledgement that the man was right here, and that he was safe for the time being.

Everything between them was made up in moments.

Pieced together with the scrap portions of time that could be scrounge up.

And for now, for them, it was enough.

It didn't take long before Drummer Boy felt the heat of Charmer's lips on his neck instead. He drew in a sharp breath at the action, felt the subtle graze of teeth on his skin, and felt himself leaning his head back.

"Elijah," Drummer Boy whispered, feeling the touch of Charmer's tongue against his skin now- feeling the slight pressure behind the man's lips as Charmer pressed firm against his neck. It was easy to feel the weight of the embrace against his pulse; it was easy to feel the way Charmer pressed his lips, his mouth against him, spilling hot air across now wet skin. He groaned softly in response, feeling the steady pace Charmer chose as the man slowly moved lower along his neck. "Not exactly how I want to wake up the rest of Ticonderoga."

And yet, he still turned his head to give Charmer more space.

And there was no hesitation as Charmer kissed at him harder in response, nipping lightly at his skin now.

Drummer Boy felt the careful brush of fingers against his neck, before he felt Charmer loosely cup a hand over his mouth- just barely masking the quiet moan that managed to escape him next.

"Asshole," he whispered, pushing his hand aside, much to Charmer's apparent amusement as he heard the man give a muffled laugh against his skin. He could feel Charmer nipping and sucking at hs neck, peppering the skin just barely below his collar with dark red rings; it was hard to ignore the heat of Charmer's mouth against his skin, almost burning it in the drafty room they were in. "You kiss a guy once."

"Can you blame me?" Charmer whispered, breathing hot into the dip of his collarbones now.

Drummer Boy pushed his hands between them and grabbed Charmer by the thin collar of his shirt, before he pulled the man in against him- feeling the familiar warmth of the man's lips against his own now, whispering against them directly as he spoke next. "No, can't say that I can," he replied.

"Me either."

He closed the space between them, and felt Charmer practically melt into him.

Fingers moved to tangle themselves in Charmer's long hair once he knew he had the man anchored to him- feeling the odd softness of his hair as some of it came loose from where it had been tied back. The long strands filled the spaces between his fingers, allowing Drummer Boy to softly curl them in, balling his hands in the mess of black as he pressed knuckles against Charmer's scalp. A subtle groan escaped the man at the gentle tug- something Drummer Boy would have to remember later.

He felt the way Charmer's hands pushed underneath him now, squeezed between his body and the thin bedding as fingers tangled in his jacket, as they pressed firm against the back of his ribs.

Drummer Boy felt Charmer shift slightly, felt the heavier press of his weight on top of him- felt the heat of Charmer's tongue as it melted into his mouth.

He could hear their shared breathing- staggered and taken in gasps when and where they could afford it.

It had been quite some time since he was last like this with someone else.

Even longer for Charmer though.

He felt the intensity of Charmer's fingers curled tight against his ribs, pressed against the soft meat between them, before they raked down along his back.

And almost immediately, Drummer Boy felt that scarred knot of skin turn to fire as Charmer pressed against it; two layers of clothing did little to stop the impression of fingernails scraping over the raw tissue. He felt the slight jerk of his body more than he heard the stammered half-breathed wheeze escape him. The pain was sharp, but quick, and barely lingered as more than a throbbing ache in his lower back. But he could feel the way his muscles spasmed across his lower back, spreading down to his hips, and pulling tight up along his spine.

"What is it? What is it?"

It was Charmer's quiet voice that pulled him back, drawing him to the man's worried, and confused expression above him.

(Just a few seconds, that was all it had lasted for).

"It's fine, I'm fine-" Drummer Boy started, a little surprised by the controlled calmness in his voice now. It had him wondering just how many types of situations he had been in where it was like instinct to keep his cool, to keep calm. Had him wondering if he had done the same with a fresh laser bullet lodged in his skin. Left him wondering just how many more situations could he continue to do it for, no matter the severity of the situation. "- the scar is still-"

He didn't get to finish his sentence, didn't get to finish assuring Charmer that things were okay.

The rest of his words were drowned out by a deep, throaty bellow in the distance.

One that made Drummer Boy's blood run cold as the bellow alone sent a heavy tremor throughout Ticonderoga, threatening to shake the building itself off of its cracked foundation. It shook the bed underneath them, forcing Charmer to go somewhat rigid above him at the sudden motion; the man's fingers curled tight into the bedding as the bed itself was moved a few inches away from the wall.

The desk next to them quaked in place, too heavy to move with metal foot studs.

Although the few books that had been carelessly stacked on the corner of the desk tumbled easily to the floor.

It reminded Drummer Boy of the subtle shaking from before, the one he had brushed off a little too quickly.

...

The shaking from before had to have been tremors caused by distant footsteps- very _big_ footsteps.

Ones that weren't nearly far enough away now.

And the bellow- that godforsaken bellow-

Drummer Boy could see the mix of confusion and fear in Charmer's face, still only a few inches above his own. And he was pretty certain that his own face reflected back that exact expression; hell, he swore he could even feel the coldness from where all the blood had drained from his face.

"... What was _that_?"

Even in answer, he felt himself stammer slightly.

"Behemoth," Drummer Boy answered, feeling the building tremble all around them once more. He swore he could hear the fucking thing right outside, could hear the crunching of the asphalt and concrete underneath the creature's feet- hell, even hear its labored breathing. "Jesus, that thing has to be right next to us."

Already he could see the continuous confusion as Charmer furrowed his brow once more.

"What the _fuck_ is a Behemoth?"

Drummer Boy started to question just how the hell Charmer had never encountered one before, before he stopped himself- before he realized that it was possible. Behemoths were rare to come across to begin with, and considering that Charmer hadn't been around here for too long, it was possible that he had been able to avoid them. Which, in itself was a miracle.

"Charmer, sweetheart, count your blessings," Drummer Boy replied, lightly patting the man on the cheek, which only seemed to confuse him further. "Behemoths-" another hefty tremor, and the crunching of what might've been a lamp post outside hinted that the creature was even closer now. "- They're really big Super Mutants, like colossal huge," he explained, cutting his voice almost to a whisper now. "Tom guesses they got to that size because of elongated exposure to the FEV virus, which means that they'd have to be the oldest of the Super Mutants. No idea on age, but guesses have been thrown around to a couple decades at least- maybe a century even. Don't know much about them other than that they're big, they're scary, and they're incredible dangerous."

His answer, on top of the continuous stomping outside, didn't seem to do much to assure Charmer that they were at all safe inside- in theory anyways.

"You mean there can be more than one of these things?" Charmer whispered, following suit in keeping his voice quiet.

He nodded, which didn't seem to comfort the man at all.

"Are these things... a common issue?"

It was a little hard to concentrate on the question as Drummer Boy felt Charmer push himself up onto his forearms to keep from crushing him- although their legs were still intermingled.

He could still feel the weight of Charmer's hips on his own too.

"Sort of- at least, around here they kind of are," Drummer Boy answered, flinching as the next set of footsteps rocketed through the building once more. He felt Charmer's fingers curl into the folds of his jacket now, and couldn't help but to wonder just how terrifying the idea of a Behemoth must've been to the man. After all, he highly, highly doubted they had anything remotely close to this in Charmer's timeframe. "They're not common during the cold spells though- most Super Mutants aren't anyways. I guess the FEV virus doesn't leave them with much protection from the cold, or maybe they're too stupid to get away from hyperthermia, I don't know."

"Where do they come from?"

"No telling," Drummer Boy replied. "You would think with something that big, we would know, but... sometimes it's like they just show up without warning. This one was probably drawn in overnight by you and Colada though- either by the commotion with the ghouls, or by your scent. Hard to say."

There was an obvious wrinkle that formed across the bridge of Charmer's nose, implying he wasn't all too thrilled by the answer.

"Great," he whispered, "so what do we do now?"

Now that was the question of the hour.

"We lay low until that thing leaves," Drummer Boy answered as best he could. "Everyone here knows what to do in case of a Behemoth sighting. We stay where we are, we stay quiet, and where it's safe until that thing clears the horizon. It might take a few hours though, sometimes Behemoths like to linger around and waste time. If it sticks around too long though, and starts to eat up our schedule, High-Rise might send someone out to serve as a decoy to lead it away. Dangerous, but usually effective- and Butcher always loves to volunteer."

"So... we stay here? As in right here?" Charmer asked.

He nodded in return. "Yeah, unfortunately. With how close it is right now, even so much as getting up might alert it. They're pretty stupid, but if something catches their attention, their first instinct is to start swinging that club. And believe me when I say we have lost a safe house or two to a Behemoth search party before."

"Perfect."

Drummer Boy chuckled lightly at the hint of annoyance in the man's voice. No doubt this whole situation was probably too sudden, and moving a little too quick for him right now. Being stuck like this was one thing, but having a Behemoth just outside was another. Didn't help that Charmer had never seen one to begin with, so all the man could do was take his word for everything he had said.

He moved to slowly brush aside some of Charmer's loose strands- gently tucking them behind the man's ear. Charmer seemed too focused on the next set of crunching sounds outside, a car this time maybe, to even notice the gesture.

"Alright, well... since I've got you where I want you," Charmer started, as he slowly turned his attention back to him, "let me ask you a question now."

And the man was already ready to move on.

"Sure," Drummer Boy replied, a little curious to see where this was going. "I obviously can't think of what kind of topic we could speak about while a Behemoth is raging outside, but if you've got one go for it."

A quiet chuckle escaped the man. "Okay, well, first off, you're a smart-ass, but I already knew this so I can't really complain about it," Charmer remarked. "But since you got to ask your obligatory awkward health question, I want to ask mine."

"This already sounds like a bad idea, but I'm curious."

"How long have you had the scar?"

Drummer Boy heard the question correctly, and it was a reasonable question considering he had given Charmer the same treatment earlier in regards to his leg.

Still, it felt like his head translated it out to be something different.

_How long has it been since you got shot?_

_How long has it been since Switchboard?_

_Since all of those people died around you?_

_Do you still remember them?_

Over and over again.

He could still feel the subtle throbbing in the hollow of his back from where Charmer's fingers had been- warm and curled against his skin, pressed tight and hot against scar tissue that felt like iron knots against the base of his spine.

"Eight months." The answer came to him quicker than Drummer Boy thought it would. Easier at least. "Got shot towards the end of May, and was mostly useless throughout June; I ended up with an infection halfway through the month, and spent a week battling a combination of nausea and dehydration."

"That's... that's not very long," Charmer noted.

"It's long enough for this kind of business," he reminded; he took one look at Charmer's barely masked concerned expression, and gave a brief sigh. "You just... caught me off-guard, is all. I didn't realize it was still that sensitive to touch- at least when someone else does it."

"I know all about that," Charmer replied, a quiet chuckle in his voice with the words, as one hand moved to his ribs; and Drummer Boy remembered how Charmer said he had gotten shot through the ribs after taking one to the leg- an unfair, unjust bullet.

Drummer Boy watched as Charmer looked to the half-boarded window above them, and wondered if the man was curious enough to take a look- hoping to catch a peek of this Behemoth. Curious maybe, but not curious enough to actually do so, at least for the sake of not drawing attention to them. Because he wasn't exaggerating when he said that he had seen the aftermath some Behemoths had on safe houses, and it wasn't pretty.

It didn't take long for Charmer to turn back to him though.

Didn't take long for a slight twitch on the corner of the man's lips to appear, before Charmer leaned back down to him.

Drummer Boy felt the teasing kiss Charmer placed on his lips, a little warm and firm- giving him a brief break from the Behemoth outside.

"Can I touch it again?" Charmer whispered, the words rolling over his own lips as they came out. "I promise I'll be gentle this time."

He contemplated the question, still feeling the odd sort of numbness that was now residing over the back of his hips.

He could still feel the heat and roughness of Charmer's fingers from before, could still feel the way they had curled against him- holding and clinging to him in the heat of the moment.

"Sure."

Drummer Boy felt Charmer move back down to him, felt the way his hands pushed underneath him once more.

They curled against his jacket at first, pushing against it, just barely pushing it up against his back- just enough for Charmer to slip his hands under. It was easy to feel the warmth of Charmer's fingers against his skin, to feel the slow way they scope out a path against his skin, causing the muscles of his lower back to twitch in response. He was breathing slow and steady against Charmer's lips, feeling the slight shudder than came with prodding fingertips.

It took a few seconds of exploration, of subtle kneading, before he felt Charmer's fingers slowly drift down to the scar.

Drummer Boy still felt the lingering sensitivity to the tissue- felt the tissue still soft and raw underneath Charmer's touch as the man slowly and carefully moved over the regrown tissue. He could feel the way it stretched and webbed underneath Charmer's fingertips, a mess of skin knotted and deformed by burnt tissue that had been scrubbed and scraped off by a steady hand.

"That's a hell of a scar," Charmer whispered.

"It looks a lot worse."

Drummer Boy felt Charmer at his neck once more, felt the soft heat of his lips and breath against his skin all over again.

It was pretty ridiculous that this was what they were choosing to do while a Behemoth stomped around outside. But as long as it kept them quiet, and out of the creature's attention span, it wasn't like they were hurting anyone. It was ridiculous, yes, but harmless.

It reminded him of how he had once thought it had been ridiculous the one time a Behemoth had stomped over by the North Church, dusting bone mill and dust over them while they laid quiet underground- and Desdemona opened a fresh bottle of Bourbon.

_"Well it's not like it's going to get us, or we're going to get it," Desdemona spoke- quiet as the liquor she poured into a cracked drinking glass. "Might as well enjoy the solitude of it while we can. Now do you want some or not?"_

_"No use in arguing with her," Glory shrugged, almost too eager to take up the Railroad Alpha on the offer. "Might as well make a game of it too while we're at it. Take a shot for every time the big ugly makes a noise."_

_"We'll be dead by daylight."_

Drummer Boy was drawn back by the more pressing touch of Charmer's lips against the subtle throbbing of his neck, the warmth of Charmer's mouth as he slowly pressed long, wet embraces against his skin.

"You should show it to me some time then."

Drummer Boy chucked lightly as hands and fingers moved to curl against the man's shoulders, feeling the weight of Heavy against him now. Feeling the looseness of Charmer's shirt between his fingers now, feeling the firm bone and muscle that resided under clothing and skin.

"We'll see, Charmer."

* * *

 

It was an hour, maybe longer, before the bellows and tremors left in a slow, bumbling mess.

Drummer Boy wasn't sure what the Behemoth was out here looking for, or if it was smart enough to know itself, but thankfully it didn't find whatever it was. And thankfully everyone in Ticonderoga had managed to keep their peace long enough to avoid detection. He was sure it was killing Butcher to not go running out there and kill the Behemoth herself- which would've been far too dangerous to do in such close proximity to the safe house.

But knowing Butcher, she might've still tried to risk it- unless someone here was having to hold her back.

Regardless, once Drummer Boy heard the sound of other footsteps in the hallway outside, he knew High-Rise had deemed it safe to move again. Man had the eyes of a hawk, and had no doubt watched the Behemoth lumber off in the distance; he had probably counted the minutes to make sure it didn't decide to turn around and come back too.

As much as he liked lying in bed with Charmer for a lazy morning, his body was stiff now, and desperately needed to move.

But at least Charmer seemed to feel the same way.

"Can we even take one of those things down- realistically?" Charmer questioned, sitting on the edge of the bed as he slipped his prosthetic leg back on. He wrestled some with the compression sock, but thankfully seemed to be having an easier time fitting his leg into the prosthetic cap- despite his worries from before about it. Charmer ran his hand over the cap, checked for pressure, before he pulled his protective legging back on.

Drummer Boy watched as the man stood up and tested his weight on the leg, before he deemed it satisfactory and pulled his pants leg back over it. "Yeah- it's difficult and it takes a lot of firepower, but it's possible. I mean, I've only heard the stories- and I saw one dead before, but that's the extent of what I know. If you want, when Rent gets back she can tell you about the time she saw a Behemoth take on a pack of Deathclaws."

"Uh... depends on which one won."

He couldn't help but to chuckle lightly at Charmer's hesitant response, before he moved to step out into the hallway. "Yeah, I'll let Rent tell you the ending to it. She'll love it, you'll love it. And you'll never want to go out into the desolate Commonwealth again."

"I didn't want to to begin with."

Making his way down the hallway, Drummer Boy heard the careful steps of Charmer behind him- heard the familiar sound of his prosthetic hitting the thin flooring. He made his way down the stairs, and dropped down into the lounge, where it seemed like everyone else had slowly began to nest together.

"As if the cold wasn't bad enough," Motherboard whispered, bundled on the couch with a blanket or two pulled on around her. The woman was hard to spot underneath the bundled mess, but just about everyone already knew who she was- and anyone who knew her within the Railroad all claimed that she could've been Dr. Amari's twin.

Even Drummer Boy had to admit that the two looked so similar in face and stature, even though they would both deny such proclamations; they almost insisted all too well that they looked nothing alike. Some agents were a little too convinced that Motherboard had to have been an escaped Synth designed to replace Dr. Amari in Goodneighbor- but such a claim was quick to earn the proclaimer a broken nose.

"I mean, at least we don't have to worry about Deathclaws knocking at the door, but come on- a Behemoth?" Motherboard continued. "What are the odds, and why are they always swinging against our favor?"

"Because only a Behemoth could fuck with us at this point," Butcher assured, standing behind Motherboard on the other side of the couch. Butcher's hands were quick to catch the woman by the shoulders as she gave Motherboard a slow shake- much to her distaste. Her words were somewhat of a boast, which everyone knew well enough was bullshit- but it was a nice thought. "Now then, when are you going to release me out into the wild to fuck that thing up, High-Rise?"

It never took Butcher long to get into the spirit of the hunt.

High-Rise himself was just coming back up from the stairwell, no doubt having gone out to survey that the Behemoth had, in fact, gotten a safe distance away from them.

"Well, funny enough, Butch, this was the exact reason that I called Charmer up here," High-Rise started, dusting his hands off on his jeans. "There had been a few reports here or there of evidence of a Behemoth in the area, and I figured a quick look around would find the big guy. I just wasn't expecting the damn thing to show up on my doorstep though. And now, to make matters just a little worse, Rent just called in a few minutes ago and said that there was a second Behemoth headed this way too."

Another one?

One Behemoth was rare enough on it's own, but two?

"You gotta be shitting me," Drummer Boy remarked, hitting the bottom of the staircase before he walked into the lounging area.

"I wish I was."

"So what, it's just more to go around then," Butcher replied, releasing Motherboard for now, much to the woman's relief, before she stepped around the couch to cut Charmer off. "Alright Charmer, you and Colada battled up some ghouls the night before, so I think it's my turn now to give you the runaround. What do you say you and I top off Colada with a couple of Behemoths?"

Why was it that something always had to come up just to drag Charmer off?

Drummer Boy knew that it came with the job, that it came with the Railroad- that he should be used to it by now, and yet.

Then again, he guessed that the two of them had already gotten the morning off together, and that was really more than they could ask for- or at least, more than they had gotten in the past month or so.

"I uh... well I've never seen a Behemoth before, let alone encountered one, but yeah sure, I'm up for it," Charmer spoke.

The man's confidence in himself didn't exactly stir up any assurance amongst the crowd.

"We've all seen them, but hardly anyone goes up against them," MockingBird spoke, seated at the couch across from Motherboard; the woman was polishing down what looked to be a rifle- and a new one at that. She always had a knack for finding the good stuff. "It's not exactly the smartest thing to do, but some of us are stupid enough to go after them willingly."

There was a slight pause in the room at the jabbed remark.

"I can't argue that," Butcher admitted, raising her hands up in the moment of defeat before she clapped them together- shaking the remark off all too easy. "Alright, so if High-Rise here is done pussyfooting around, here's the rundown of it: MockingBird and White Tide will run interference, and pull this Behemoth away from here- hopefully far away. Charmer and myself will run offense and take this big guy out."

"Rent thinks that she can pull the second Behemoth away, and bring it towards Colada since they're both heading back now," High-Rise interrupted. "It'll be tight for them, but they're not too far out from here, so when you're done running interference with Butcher, can you provide assistance, MockingBird?"

MockingBird gave a nod and set her polishing equipment aside. "Yeah, I think I know where Rent's gonna run- there's that old Red Rocket Station not too far from here she likes to hide at. If she's gonna bring the devil to Colada, she's gonna run through there first," the woman nodded. "Not to mention, it's not gonna be too hard to spot a Behemoth on the horizon. If it's out there, I'll find it- and Rent's gonna make it's ass bounce caps."

"Well there we go then- easy in, easy out," Butcher spoke. "The roads are still pretty icy out, so it should be easy to get the dumb fuckers to slip and fall, which will make this whole thing a lot easier for us to pull off. It might not break a leg or anything, but a Behemoth is not going to get up with ease, and it'll be easier for us to take a few good whacks at its head while it's down."

Again, they were making plans ahead of themselves.

"Just remember that it'll be easy for you guys to do the same," Drummer Boy reminded, unsure of how that one fact seemed to keep slipping everyone's mind. He knew that if Carrington was here, he'd be giving everyone hell for forgetting about it. God knows the man had patched up enough broken wrists and bruised tailbones to never let anyone else hear the end of it. Not to mention, it was quite possible to cut one's self on some ice- and having blood exposed in this kind of environment was not a good idea. "And breaking your own leg is only going to make it that much easier for the Behemoth as well."

He could see a few of the agents nod with a point well made.

Again, not a hard point to make, but a difficult one to remember with this crowd.

"You want to come along for the fun?" Butcher offered- even though he knew she damn well knew the answer.

"No thanks- I don't like Super Mutants enough as they are, let alone the big ones," Drummer Boy replied. "If this is the plan you guys are going to go with, then just be careful and come back alive, yeah? I don't want to be the one who has to go back and report all of this back to Dez. Because I don't want to have to explain why everyone thought it would be a good idea to run out onto fresh ice to piss off some Behemoths. I mean, it's necessary, but if we lose six agents because of it, I'm not sure Dez will see it the same way."

"Oh we'll be fine," the woman assured, waving his remark off. "Now come on, let's get together and head out before those two Behemoths decide to team up and come back for us."

Now that was a terrifying thought.

"Alright, well, everyone knows the drill then, so let's get to it," High-Rise announced. "White Tide, when you're through running distraction for Butcher and Charmer, you're all the more welcome to be a third gun; if not, then I want you back here as soon as possible."

The mute man nodded as he wrestled himself into a secondary jacket.

"I'll be keeping an eye out here just in case something else decides to show up. Motherboard is watching the Synths, and she's ready to run evac if it's necessary to. I doubt we'll be under much pressure here, but if things go horribly wrong somehow, Drummer Boy, you're calling the shots for HQ, alright?" High-Rise spoke.

"Understood- but be careful with that request, High-Rise- you know how much Dez hates this place," Drummer Boy remarked, teasing the man about his waning on-again, off-again professional relationship with Desdemona. The two didn't hate each other, but they sure as hell loved grinding on one another's nerves; they were both too stubborn for their own good, and being around each other only made their stubbornness worse.

"Dez loves this place."

With a new, questionable, plan in action, everyone split up to get their things together and to get ready for the would-be brawl.

They had all just barely had time to sit down and get their own arrangements in regards to the Railroad underway, and now they had to deal with this. At this point, it would probably be theorized that the Institute had sent these Behemoths to them just to set them back and to keep the Railroad off of their trail. A ridiculous theory, but one that Drummer Boy was certain that Tom could make heads of.

Once more though, he found himself back in their shared room, watching as Charmer got ready to set out again.

"You're still pretty cold from the last time you went out," Drummer Boy remarked, watching as Charmer slipped into a spare jacket that High-Rise had sitting around. The man's former jackets were still hanging up to dry, which was a testament to just how short of a time it had been since he was last out. Thankfully High-Rise had a knack of keeping extra supplies around for situations like this- well, mostly for situations where they booked too many agents at one time.

"I wouldn't say so," Charmer replied as he hastily buttoned the jacket as far up as it would go, in which case it just barely covered his neck. "I had a pretty heater to warm me up after all."

Drummer Boy chuckled lightly and shook his head at the teased remark. "Come here," he started, reaching out to readjust the jacket's short neckline, before he pulled the collar of Charmer's shirt over it- at least to compensate in some way or form. Readjusting the jacket around Charmer's shoulders next, Drummer Boy used the motion to pull the man down to him- brushing a subtle kiss against Charmer's jaw. "Stay safe, okay? And just as a heads up, Behemoths will swing relentlessly when they're angry, and they can, and will, throw boulders at you. Both should be easy to avoid, but don't try to find safety inside- they can easily bring a building down on top of you."

"I'll try, but no promises," Charmer remarked, turning enough to catch him by the lips- a subtle grin pressing against Drummer Boy now. "I also can't promise that I'll be able to outrun that thing either."

"I never should have introduced you to Colada, or Butcher."

"Hm, jealous, are we?" the man teased.

"Hardly," Drummer Boy replied, hearing the man chuckle in response. "It just seems like you get a kick out of... making things worrisome." He wanted to say that Charmer had a knack for making him worry, but that was what Charmer's job was. One would think that he had gotten used to it, and he had before, but now... Now that things were different between them, it made everything different.

It was a double-edge knife here; it was both good and bad.

Regardless, it only seemed to fuel Charmer's ego.

"Come here," the man whispered, one arm catching Drummer Boy around the waist before Charmer kissed him lightly once more- nothing more than subtle brushes, and warm contact. "If it means keeping you safe, than I gotta do this," he started. "I can't let some goliath asshole out there think that he can just use this place as his stomping grounds. And I can't let anything bad happen before I get to see that scar of yours."

Drummer Boy cupped his hand over Charmer's mouth, and lightly pushed his head aside.

"You're worthless, Charmer."


	5. Chapter 5

Drummer Boy waited in the lounge- glad to no longer have the bellowing roars outside or the vibrating floors under his feet.

Glad to no longer have the threat of a Behemoth at the doorstep.

...

But of course, just like everything else, it had to come at a cost.

Once more Charmer had to run off to do whatever was needed, whatever was asked of him. And Drummer Boy couldn't blame the man for giving a hand wherever it was needed- after all it was that attitude that had brought Charmer to the Railroad in the first place. And asking for one more harmless break seemed like it would be asking too much from the world.

Too much trade in one direction would upset the flow of things around here.

Too much good at one time usually ended with a lot of bad later on down the line.

And considering that they were still trying to recover from the last shipload of bad that had been dropped on top of them, Drummer Boy didn't want to press their luck. There was no rhyme or reason with things around here- there was nothing that said that the next thing coming their way would be good.

(Although Charmer had previously been the last thing that came knocking at the door.)

"Fucking crazy, isn't it?" High-Rise spoke as he worked his way across the lounge; there was a cigarette half-balanced on his lips and a lighter sticking out of his jacket pocket. There was no doubt that the man was on his way out; High-Rise had a strict no-smoking policy inside- and that rule applied to himself as well. Although, as strict as the man was about smoke inhalation inside, that wasn't to say that some of the agents at Ticonderoga didn't find ways to creatively get around it. "Two fucking Behemoths. Where the hell did they come from?"

Drummer Boy chuckled lightly at the remark. "Well hey, just look at it this way, you're getting two issues down at once."

"Yeah- hopefully anyways," High-Rise replied. "Charmer and Colada just took down some ferals the other night, a Behemoth can't be too far off the path, right?"

"Oh yeah, a ghoul and a Behemoth are totally one in the same," Drummer Boy remarked, catching the exasperated look High-Rise shot him just before the man headed down the stairs. He chuckled lightly at the silent remark, knowing well that the silence said enough, and settled in on the couch- figuring he had a long wait period ahead of him. There wasn't much else for him to do around here and he had already solved the issue he came here for.

And there was no way that he was going to go out there with the Behemoths.

He barely got the down time he wanted before he heard the sound of his radio going off in his jacket pocket.

The sound of it sounded foreign to him.

Very rarely did he ever actually get a call on it, let alone really use it to call someone else; the radio was usually meant for emergency situations and was to be treated as such, which was an easy order to understand.

The Railroad tried to avoid using radios as much as possible to avoid potential Institute, and now Brotherhood, interference. Tinker Tom was hard-pressed on the matter, and since Desdemona agreed with his concern, he was allowed to rig all of their radios to run on multiple frequencies- most of which were fake. It took the man three weeks to pull it off- three weeks of no sleep and only a diet of drugs, much to Carrington's immense concern. The finish product basically assured that if anyone were to try to tap into their frequencies, they wouldn't know that the line was fake until about an hour of their time had already been wasted.

All of which rounded out to saying that whatever the radio was buzzing about in his jacket, it had to be something important.

Pulling the radio free, Drummer Boy listened to the quiet morse-code that beeped in rhythm from the other line. Another one of the Railroad's tactics for disturbing their own frequencies- one that he knew well and one that told him exactly who was calling.

He counted the dots and dashes, formulating the password in his head- and picking it up on the first try.

"Mutifruit," he answered, breaking the connection on his own end.

"Good to hear you're still in range," the voice of Desdemona started near immediately in response. "Still at Ticonderoga?"

The fact that Desdemona was calling him so soon after he had just left did not settle well with him. The woman used the radio often when she needed to, when she needed to get out orders, but... that was usually to a party. Not to just one person. And seeing as he knew how things ran in the Railroad, that experience alone told him that there was something to potentially fear.

"Yeah, I got the communication issue fixed and Charmer's out dealing with the issues High-Rise needed him for," Drummer Boy answered- giving the woman the simplest, quickest answers. He didn't want to prolong the inevitable here.

"Hopefully nothing too time-consuming," the Alpha replied.

"Depends on how long taking down two Behemoths takes."

And given that it had already been a little over two hours now, there was no telling.

Desdemona gave a long sigh, and even though the two of them were on the radio, Drummer Boy swore he could smell the cigarette smoke coming off of her. "Listen, I'm going to need you to head back when you can- we got some news recently and we need to rethink how we're sending out our next wave," the woman continued. "Mercer hit a hitch earlier today and while Glory's got the place up and running again, it caused a shift in routine. I need you here for the briefing."

And there it was.

The words alone confirmed what he had been dreading.

If Glory had the situation under control for the time being than it might not be so bad- but very rarely did Desdemona have to change how things were done. Especially on the fly like this.

Unfortunately he knew he couldn't ask for more details over the radio, which only made the whole thing feel worse.

(Which made the whole thing feel like a heavier rock in his gut.)

"Alright, I'll head out as soon as I can," Drummer Boy replied, unable to shake the discomfort of what would be waiting for him back at HQ. He should be used to this by now and yet each time it came up, it only seemed to be worse than the last. And after Switchboard, he didn't know how much worse things could get.

(Couldn't they just get a break? Just once?)

Drummer Boy looked up at what sounded like stomping coming from downstairs- loud and obnoxious, breaking his concentration for a moment.

"What about Charmer?"

"Let him finish his job with High-Rise and return when he can- I know the Minutemen are probably asking about him right now," Desdemona spoke, and it felt so very rarely spoken that Charmer id have another job. That he didn't just run with them, that he wasn't just 'Charmer' to the world out there. He wasn't here for just the Synths- he was here for the Commonwealth too.

"Alright, I'll be back in a few hours then."

It sounded like an empty promise in some way.

But the least he could do was wait for Charmer to return and make sure that the man was alright.

And judging from the sounds downstairs, it would seem as though the hunting party had returned.

Drummer Boy could hear the loud footsteps stomping up the stairs, practically shaking the building it seemed; he heard the scattered voices- loud, but it wasn't completely audible as to what was being said. It sounded angry though, which wasn't a good sign.

The first person he saw was Rent as the woman came barreling up the stairs.

Her face was blister-red and her make-up was smeared across pulled skin; she had a fresh coating of snow all over her uniform as well.

"Dare I ask?" Drummer Boy started- a little afraid of what the answer might be.

"It was fucking awful," Rent replied, gesturing to the above floor as she made her way up the stairs. "Gotta grab some spare stimpaks for this one."

Okay.

Now he was worried.

The hearty laugh that echoed through the lounge alerted Drummer Boy that Colada was next- and the sight of the large man himself confirmed it. He was laughing and seemingly pretending that he wasn't crushing Motherboard as the woman kept one arm hooked as best she could around the man's waist- keeping him somewhat balanced against her as she walked.

"You should've seen it, Drummer," Colada started, grinning from ear to ear as he half-walked, half-stumbled across the lobby, "what a fight!"

"Be GLAD that you weren't there," Motherboard quipped as she forced the man to the nearby couch. "I don't know what the _hell_ Colada is talking about."

"Not many of us do," Drummer Boy remarked, watching now as Motherboard forced the larger man down onto the couch. The woman huffed before she fished a rag out of her jacket and tried to wipe away the blood from Colada's broken nose. All while the man grinned and gave a hearty thumbs-up to him- behind Motherboard's back of course.

Butcher and Charmer came next- the two of them leaning on one another as they finally made it to the top of the stairs with a set of huffs.

"Was it worth it?" Drummer Boy questioned as he moved to help the two of them to the other couches- sitting Butcher on one and Charmer on the other. It was hard not to notice the wide split across Charmer's left cheek, the blood already having crystallized on his skin; it was hard not to notice the heavy bruising setting in, giving evidence to the man having smashed face-first into the ice. And Butcher wasn't one to go unnoticed with a slightly torn jacket, and a visibly swollen arm- her remaining human one anyways.

"Yes," Butcher answered, a bit too quickly for his liking. "Watching not one, but TWO Behemoths fall was a sight to see, my friend."

And the woman's comment was enough to spark questions- as well as answers.

"I thought you guys were taking them on one at a time?" he questioned.

"We WERE," Motherboard emphasized, as she helped Colada get his false leg propped up on the table nearby. "I don't know how it happened- the stupid things wouldn't follow us at first, and no one was paying attention to where they were running. Next thing ya know, we end up running into each other right when the super-sized Muties decide to follow- thus dragging all of us together. It was a shit show, Drummer, and we're all lucky to still be alive right now."

"It wasn't THAT bad," Colada insisted.

Drummer Boy sighed and decided not to get between Colada and Motherboard's continuous arguing- although he would definitely go with Motherboard on this one, as he usually did. Instead, for now, he turned his attention back to Charmer, who had sunken himself down into the ratted cushions, looking more than a little bit frozen once more. "How bad was it?" he asked.

Charmer gave what might've been a nervous, sheepish sort of laugh as he pushed his shoulders down into the cushions. "It was pretty bad," he replied, fingers lightly touching at his split, bruising cheek. "Not gonna lie, I might've screamed when I saw the first Behemoth- I thought you were exaggerating when you said that they were colossal size." The man tugged at his jacket now, loosening the first couple of buttons on it to allow himself to breathe easier. "I most definitely screamed when the second one showed up though."

He could only imagine how it all must've looked to the man.

They had all been there though- that first time ever seeing a Behemoth. Now some people were lucky and never saw one at all, but only maybe heard it out in the distance or something. But it was definitely one of those sights you never forget.

"So what are the damages?" Drummer Boy pressed, briefly sitting on the arm of the couch next to the man.

Motherboard and Colada had given up on their argument for now.

Rent had returned with the stimpaks and was patching Butcher up for the time being- the two of them were a mix of laughter and arguing at the moment. Their usual post-battle head-butting.

"Took a nasty spill- as you can see," Charmer answered, making a vague gesture towards his face. "Almost got smashed by a thrown car, almost got caught under a collapsing building... also had my leg sort of disconnect mid-battle."

See?

That was the concern that he was always bringing up- the same one that no one else seemed to want to focus on.

"Colada dislocated his too," Butcher remarked, quick to point a finger at her white-bearded friend. "Can you believe it? Mid-battle against two Behemoths and two of our guys lose their legs."

"At least they were only prosthetics this time," Rent muttered.

"The spring in your wrist junction popped too," Motherboard reminded. "Honestly, ten minutes into the battle and we're all slipping on ice and nearly shooting each other instead- it's a bloody miracle that those Behemoths are the only ones who are dead."

"But they are dead," Colada spoke.

"Oh shut it!"

"Where's White Tide and High-Rise?" Drummer Boy asked, taking note of the men's absence now. High-Rise had only just left a few minutes ago, so there was no way that the man didn't know that his team had come back. All in different variety of pieces, but they had come back.

"Doing a perimeter run just in case," Motherboard answered. "We're never certain if Super Mutants follow those things, or track them, or whatever. High-Rise wanted to make sure that we're still keeping an eye out for them in the case they do decide to show up. And since White Tide got lucky and avoided most of the battle, he's out there too- you know, that boy, as fast as he is, never once slipped on that damn ice."

Right, of course.

Smart move.

Drummer Boy sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck.

Things weren't exactly ideal right now, but no one had died and no one was seriously injured, so he could still be grateful for that.

"Something bothering you?" Butcher asked, as she moved to lie down on the couch- sprawling herself out before she moved to cross her arms over her chest. "Did the Behemoths bother you that much?"

"No, no- it's just you guys decided to come back right as Dez called me in to leave," he replied. "Trying to fight with morality right now, and asking myself if I should heed to her order or stick around long enough to make sure you guys don't die of hyperthermia."

"What'd she call you back for?" Charmer asked.

"Change of plans or something to the effect," Drummer Boy answered, not wanting to give too much away from the time being. Everyone had enough to deal with right now, and the last thing they needed was something else on their mind. Not to mention he didn't really have any details to give himself- and another thing everyone needed to not worry about were questions with no answers. "But looks like I'll be sticking around here for a little longer."

"Aw, you do care," Butcher teased.

* * *

 

After allowing Colada and Charmer to rest in the lounge room long enough to get their strength back, the two men were hauled up to their respective rooms for a little more privacy- allowing the two of them to dress down and deal with their issues under their own terms. Butcher had decided to stay in the lounge to nap- with Motherboard and Rent promising to keep an eye on her.

High-Rise and White Tide came back with the report of nothing in the area.

No more Behemoths, no other Super Mutants of any kind either

No ghouls even.

"So let me ask again, was it worth it?" Drummer Boy spoke.

"We needed to get rid of the Behemoths," Charmer replied, sprawled flat on his back in bed with his right leg in both hands. His prosthetic had been disconnected and set aside on the floor for the time being- and it was hard to ignore the slight dent on one of the side panels. An easy fix though- easy enough for Tom to hammer out if needed be. "There were a couple hits that were a little too close, but the giants did fall."

The man was starting to sound like Colada.

Drummer Boy could read the slight pain on Charmer's face as the man massaged at his leg muscles- no doubt trying to relax the irritated nerves.

After dressing down to a loose shirt and shorts for the time being, which wasn't keeping the man any warmer in the slightly cool room, it was clear to see that Charmer was covered in an assortment of nicks and scrapes. A few too many slips and/or throws across the ice had caused his skin to bruise and split all over- too much force pulling at the skin in one place.

Although the gash on his face was still the largest of them.

It split clean across his cheek, down towards his jaw.

Drummer Boy would almost suggest stitches if the skin wasn't still red from the wind chill.

But Charmer's leg was bruised and the skin around the stump had been stressed; it was easy to see where the blisters were starting to form under the skin. There might've been some minor skin tearing as well, which meant the man would need to stay off of his leg for a few days or so. Which was a hard thing to ask given Charmer's workflow around the Commonwealth.

Pulling the room door closed behind him, Drummer Boy walked over to where Charmer was sprawled out, looking a little less like the man who had left that morning. "Here," he offered as he sat down on the edge of the thin mattress and offered his hands to take over. And Drummer Boy watched as Charmer seemed to hesitate at the offer, before he conceded and moved to knit his own hands behind his head.

Drummer Boy started slow as he let his hands wrap around Charmer's thigh, palms cradling the inner and outer curve of his leg, while fingers pressed carefully into the skin. He felt the muscle flex stiffly underneath his touch as he moved his hands in careful sync, working from knee to mid-thigh and down again. Charmer was cold again, and he could only hope that the small amount of heat in his hands would keep the man's blood flowing for the time being.

Extending his thumbs out, he pushed down along the slight twitch of the muscle and heard Charmer give a deep groan in response- felt his leg pull slightly in his grasp.

"You do this with everyone?" Charmer whispered.

Why did that have to be the running theme between them?

"Occasionally," Drummer Boy answered, as one hand wrapped around the junction of Charmer's thigh, while he risked moving the other hand down to the man's kneecap. Fingers gently prodded around the bone, easing the stiff tendons that remained in place. He felt them tense slightly as the muscle of his thigh pulled- as Charmer's hips arched slightly into the touch. "You're not the only one with a false leg- and you're not the only one who's had it knocked off during a fight."

Charmer gave a soft laugh, letting it ease into another softer groan. "More like... flung off."

Drummer Boy touched lightly at the bruising skin, feeling for any sort of tearing around the stump; there was some relieve to find that there only seemed to be upcoming blisters- which still weren't a good sign, but better than the alternative.

"Feeling better?"

"Oh yeah."

He continued to let his fingers trail up and down Charmer's leg, feeling the tension in the muscle finally starting to ease back. Which was good seeing how difficult it was to ignore how the long groans that left Charmer's throat had him feeling a little hot under the collar; how it put his mind in a race he didn't necessarily want to be in.

"Do you really have to go back?"

Drummer Boy chuckled lightly at the question. "Yeah. Dez's orders," he answered. "I have to be up to date with the latest information; they can't plan anything without me there, and considering that any change is always a big deal, I can't risk pushing this further back than I already have. But again, I had to make sure that no one arrived dead after the ordeal with the Behemoths- so at least there's a spot of good news to take home."

"Yeah, I'm sure Carrington will be thrilled," Charmer teased.

He shook his head and pressed a little firmer into the junction of Charmer's thigh as he felt another muscle spasm under his hand. "You going to miss me?"

Charmer squirmed slightly under his hands and gave a soft laugh at his remark. "I guess the shoe's on the other foot this time- I'm usually the one leaving you behind. I don't know if I can handle it being the other way around." He pulled himself into a brief stretch, perhaps in distraction, before he reached one hand up to toy with the collar of his jacket. "You going to give me something to remember you by?"

"You don't remember this morning just before the Behemoth showed up?" Drummer Boy teased, catching the man's laugh once more, before he felt Charmer pull him down to him- before he felt the cold press of his lips once more. "I'll see you when you get back, yeah?" he whispered against Charmer's lips. "I think this was all that High-Rise needed you for so once you're feeling better again you'll be back at HQ."

"Probably by tomorrow morning at least," Charmer spoke, a little hopeful with that, "- ah, no actually, it's going to be longer. I need to head back to the Castle and handle some things there. Shit, how long have I been gone?"

"Not long enough apparently," Drummer Boy replied, kissing the man once more, before he pulled away. "You need anything before I go?"

"Preferably you not leaving," Charmer offered.

"That's not an option."

"Then no."

* * *

 

Drummer Boy left with a promise from Motherboard that she would look after Charmer and make sure that he was back on his feet by morning.

He left with the reassurance from High-Rise and White Tide that the area was secure for the most part- the Behemoths had scared off everything in the area, which came to no surprise. He would technically have nothing to worry about until he left the area, which was a bigger safety net to have than most would assume.

And just like that, he was back on the road headed back towards HQ.

It wasn't often that he left any of the safe houses, let alone left by himself.

He used to travel alone before the Railroad, sure, but doing so now left him with an empty feeling inside of his chest- it left him feeling maybe a little more than paranoid. After all, before he joined the Railroad, he never had to worry about whether the Institute was following him or not. Life was definitely easier before then, but... he was content with how his life was going now.

The Railroad did a lot for him.

Drummer Boy made it across the main bridge with no issues and headed back along the road he and Charmer had taken the day before.

It was hard to believe that so much had happened in such a short time span- then again that was sort of common. The Railroad didn't waste time and whatever could be fit into the hours of the day was usually taken upon.

...

Drummer Boy hit the main street and felt himself stop.

Something felt off, something felt... wrong, but he could't put his finger on it. Maybe it was the fact that he had officially stepped out of the safety net, or the reoccurring fact that he was traveling by himself. There was something out there digging under his skin though, scratching at the back of his head.

He couldn't pinpoint what the feeling was, or where it was coming from, but he knew that his gut feeling was never wrong.

The cold was making his back ache again and that only seemed to enforce the idea, enforce the paranoia.

Stepping off of the road, Drummer Boy moved closer along the house to his left- keeping them open for use as a shield if needed be. Fingers twitched for the gun at his side, but he kept the urge contained for now. He'd only shoot if it was necessary and it was always easier to run if he had his hands free, but everything depended on the answer of what exactly was out there.

Then he heard it.

That sharp, crackling sound of concentrated energy.

A sound that sparked the echoes of nightmares in his head; a sound that caused his back to pull tight in pain once more.

He didn't see the shot exactly but he caught the movement of it in the corner of his eye and didn't take the chance.

Ducking through a partly broken door, Drummer Boy shielded himself inside of the dilapidated house and positioned himself close to one of the windows. He pressed his back against the wall and surveyed the house for a few seconds, making sure that he had an escape route of some kind. Making sure that the danger wasn't actually located in the one place he decided to take safety in.

There was a back door just in the other room, no doubt facing out towards the shoreline; it was better than nothing.

Interestingly enough, just a few feet away from him was a dead Bloodbug- more than likely the one he saw in convulsions the other day.

There was a window to his left, the frame and glass long since broken, but a tattered curtain remained clinging to what was left, giving him some form of cover as fingers tediously moved to pull a corner of it back. Just a small peek outside- nothing too greedy.

His heart was absolutely pounding already, and there was no denying the hollowed drumming of it in his ears.

There was nothing in the streets.

Not at first anyways.

Drummer Boy flinched at the first catch of movement but watched as a Mirelurk scuttered across the broken asphalt; its rounded shell partly cracked. Glory had said that they were still active despite the cold- they were still territorial even, but he still didn't expect to actually see one. Especially so far from the shoreline, although Mirelurks were known to nest in the dirt mounds inside of the cities.

It was a surreal kind of setting, with the both of them seemingly out of place from where they should be.

Then he heard it again.

Another crack of an energy weapon.

A bright red streak of light that struck the Mirelurk for what might've been a second time- breaking its shell entirely, killing it instantly.

And even Drummer Boy had to admit that there was a churning sensation in his stomach at the sight of it.

He tried to hold on to the thin chance that it was a Brotherhood unit on patrol; the armored assholes used similar energy weapons and seemingly vowed to protect the Commonwealth even though no one asked that of them. Mirelurks would no doubt be something on their hunting list. He had limited experience with the Brotherhood, but he knew that they would be easier to avoid, easier to outsmart than the alternative.

And besides, it wasn't like he was doing anything wrong by being out here; he was just going for a walk for all they knew.

But then he caught a glimpse of a black suit and let the curtain fall from his fingertips without a second glance. His heart rang harder, heavier in his ears now as he pressed himself tighter to the wall- feeling the heat in his chest from a quickly withheld breath.

Drummer Boy felt his skin go colder at the realization that a Courser was currently prowling down the street, no doubt coming to check on its fresh kill. Had the thing spotted movement and simply shot? Or was it more like an enjoyment kill?

What the hell was one doing all the way out here anyways?!

There had been no sightings, no warnings- was this the change of plans Desdemona had mentioned before? No. No, that wasn't possible either. Something would've been said, a warning would've been put out, she wouldn't told them to stay low and stay put. Maybe the dual Behemoth battles had garnered the Institute's attention, maybe the Courser had already been here-

Drummer Boy's thoughts were cut short as he heard the all-too-familiar sound of the energy rifle being shot once more.

The sound of it rang in his ears, rang throughout his head, almost blocking out the sudden hot pain that erupted through his left shoulder- just barely exposed by the curtain and open window.

It was so fast, so quick, Drummer Boy didn't even realize what had happened- didn't even realize that it was his own blood he felt trickling down to his fingertips. Hot and spilling to the ground in thick droplets. He didn't even feel the immediate heat until it felt like his body was being burned alive from the inside; a familiar feeling that had once hindered him useless and paralyzed for days.

The pain was quick to set in once his mind had made the connection between the sound and the blood.

Drummer Boy barely managed to choke back a scream, barely muffling himself to keep quiet, to keep his position.

The Courser had spotted movement and shot.

There was no guarantee that the thing had actually seen him.

But there was also no guarantee that it didn't either.

He couldn't risk either options.

Pulling in sharp, wheezing breaths between clenched teeth, Drummer Boy pushed himself away from the window and mostly stumbled into the next room- barely avoiding debris and furniture as he went out through the back door. He stalled on the other side of the threshold, waiting just long enough to know that the Courser wasn't going to round towards the back where he was escaping from and spot him.

Curious thing this one was as he heard the Courser enter in through the front door, no doubt intrigued to see what its bullet had hit.

If Drummer Boy was lucky, the Courser would assume that it's victim was the Bloodbug on the ground and give up.

The fresh blood on the floor would hopefully sell the point, but Coursers were smart.

...

There was no telling how this was going to play out.

If he stuck around any longer, it would know that he was here- and he couldn't risk it.

And with his arm freshly burnt and bleeding, there was no telling if he was even going to remain conscious for much longer. His fingers were pressed to his shoulder, pressed just underneath the wound; his palm was filling with blood which spilled over and left fat droplets on the ground at his feet- tainting the fresh white snow. The heat was burning through him- scorching the inside of his head it felt.

Drummer Boy took out the back and tried to configure a way of how to get out of this.

If there was one thing he was good at in the field, it was thinking on his feet- and the first thing his mind locked onto was the rounded shell just barely peeking out from the dirt mound a few feet from him.

The adrenaline was kicking in now and it was a hell of a stimulant as he pushed himself to the next house and ducked along the back wall; he was certainly thankful now that all the pre-war houses seemed to have been built the exact same. Bloodied fingers quickly scooped up a rock by his feet and he stopped long enough to turn and chuck it at the dirt mound- bouncing the rock hard off the shell of a freshly-pissed off Mirelurk.

The thing gave a brief, gurgling shriek as it emerged from its slumber.

And luck would be on his side as the Mirelurk emerged facing the other house- just as the Courser became visible in the doorway, and just as he barely concealed himself from sight. The pissed-off, mutated sea creature didn't so much as look in Drummer Boy's direction before it scurried off towards the Courser- ready to defend its water-lodged territory.

He had lead the creature to its death but with the hope that it would make for enough of a distraction.

Enough for him to get to the collapsed bridge sitting on the coast line and duck in through the abandoned maintenance tunnel- pulling the iron door tightly closed behind him in eerie silence.

It was pitch-dark inside of the abandoned tunnel but the emergency lights flickered on and off at the hint of movement. The lights were dim and barely lit much, but they gave out enough to offer some hint as to where he was going- although he had traveled this path a few times before and had the tunnels partly memorized.

Drummer Boy could hear the hollowed echo of his footsteps in the tight corridor as he stumbled around abandoned equipment, desperate to keep moving forward. There would still be blood in the house, blood in the snow- a track that the Courser could follow. If he was lucky, the Courser would get the blood in the snow mixed up with that of the Mirelurk and ignore it. But there was no telling.

There was no telling how far a Courser's intelligence would take them.

He was pressing his luck enough as it was.

It felt like his entire left arm was paralyzed- and the feeling was quickly spreading across his chest now. Drummer Boy tried to keep it braced against his chest, but it was hard to ignore how the burning sensation was moving up along his neck, along his throat- making his jacket all the more uncomfortable now. It was barely double-digits outside, and yet he was so hot; he swore he was sweating bullets at this point.

It was so cold, but the air he was pulling in felt like it burned all the way down to his lungs.

He was losing blood fast and the adrenaline was just barely enough now to outweigh the shock from the wound.

...

He couldn't risk going back to Ticonderoga though.

And he couldn't risk returning to HQ either.


	6. Chapter 6

It felt like a personal holy blessing when Drummer Boy finally pushed his way through the old North Church doors.

He had never been a religious person but it was nothing short of a miracle that he had managed to make it this far.

That he had managed to make it back home.

He gave out a heavy breath that turned cold the moment it left his lips and let himself rest as he stood inside of the once holy shell. The smart thing would be to head down into the catacombs as quick as he could before he passed out, but he could barely feel anything of his extremities; nothing other than the sharp pull of stressed tendons in his legs. Nothing other than the hot pain of his back that was making it increasingly difficult to keep straight.

His body was wrecked from blood loss, exhaustion, and what felt like two different phases of shock. He shifted uncomfortably between being stark cold and feeling the misleading sense of false heat; hell, he had even broken out into a sweat once or twice already, which only made him more uncomfortable as the sweat froze to his skin almost immediately.

The below freezing temperatures and the constant wind chill only reminded him of the growing wax-coating on his face and neck.

Catching his breath, cold and hard in his lungs, Drummer Boy forced himself to move towards the half-broken stairway.

At the very least, the sharp pain in his legs kept him mostly focused.

But as he stood at the top of the stairway looking down, counting although already knowing how many steps it would take to descend into the catacombs, he questioned if the focus would be worth it. He could collapse here but there was no telling when someone would come back along and find him up here; he could freeze to death before then. And in this kind of weather, falling asleep wasn't exactly the greatest idea.

Drummer Boy gritted his teeth and pressed his right shoulder against the stone wall before he took the first step and slowly descended.

He had his left arm pressed tight against his chest, half-tucked underneath his jacket, hoping to save it from any unnecessary movement. His fingertips had gone from feeling like frostbite to feeling like fire as they remained half-curled against his chest; he couldn't uncurl, let alone move them- he could barely feel them at all any more. It might've been a saving grace sort of thing considering how swollen and gray his knuckles were now.

Each step sent fresh pain across his chest, tugging from the crippling wound in his shoulder.

Running around the Commonwealth with a through-and-through bullet wound was not something he should've done, especially in below freezing temperatures, but it had been necessary. It was either keep running or die, and right now Drummer Boy had escaped enough life or death situations to figure he could pull through this one too.

At the very least he knew for certain that he had lost the Courser.

Hell, he had lost the damn thing nearly a full day ago but had continued to backtrack and such just to make sure.

His certainty of that was the only reason he had returned to HQ to begin with.

Of course, his injury didn't leave him any room for any other options, which was why it was so important that he lose the Courser.

The only thing that remained in question now was whether or not he'd get to the catacombs before his sense of consciousness kicked out.

Breathing through gritted teeth, Drummer Boy hit the bottom of the first stairway and had to convince himself not to puke when he did. He knew it wouldn't be anything more than stomach acid and he had already burnt his throat and mouth by puking that up the day before; his abdominal muscles were still aching from that abuse. He continued to drag himself along the wall as he moved further down the narrow corridor.

The catacombs didn't offer much in terms of heat but it kept the wind chill off of his back and it was still a hellva lot warmer in here than it was outside.

Making it further and further down the winding stones, he made it to the locked catacombs and heard himself wheezing now as he squeezed past the door; he still stopped long enough to pull it firmly closed behind him. He was practically dragging his feet by this point as he trudged across the small platform and made his way towards the hidden HQ- shouldering aside one last door before he came face to face with the final stairwell.

It was quiet down below.

A little too quiet.

Drummer Boy wondered if it was his own shitty luck that had the HQ empty, that had everyone stepping out at the same time, leaving the catacombs abandoned.

Well everyone except for PAM anyways.

(But PAM couldn't leave, so PAM didn't count.)

That was a rarity though.

Leaning against the wall still, Drummer Boy tried to hold on to his balance as best he could. _Just a little longer,_ he could push himself for just a little longer.

"Whoever's standing at the top of the stairs either come down or state your name."

Thank God.

Someone was here then.

"Dez?" Drummer Boy called back, forcing himself from the wall and back on to his feet. He reached out and gripped the nearby stair railing with his semi-good hand and willed himself to go down the last set of stairs. He wished he could take more than just one step at a time but he couldn't risk running the heavy threat of passing out; he couldn't pass out before he got the chance to say something, to tell someone what he had witnessed.

"Drummer Boy?" the Railroad Alpha questioned in return. "Thank God- where the hell have you been? I made that call two days ago and you never showed. Charmer made it back to the Castle yesterday and I was almost convinced that you had gone with him, but he reported in saying that you had left Ticonderoga the day before."

Two days without communication was... not exactly a good sign.

Especially not for them.

But it was good to hear that Charmer was safe and on his feet again.

Drummer Boy hit the bottom of the stairs about the same time Desdemona had stepped around her desk- no doubt coming to get some answers from him. Which he couldn't blame her for. "Yeah, sorry about that, Dez, I uh ran into some obstacles on the way home," he offered, as he pushed away from the stairs and looked for something to support himself with- eventually settling with leaning against the closest desk he could reach.

"Jesus-" Desdemona started, the word, the name, a half-whisper on her lips as she easily cleared the space between them now. A hand reached out for him at first before the woman seemed to think better of it- no doubt seeing the bloodied mess of his shoulder in clarity now. "Are you alright? What on Earth happened to you? You got blood halfway down your jacket-" the woman paused mid-sentence and it was too easy to see the look of realization hitting her now. "Laser rifle."

Yeah.

The smell of burnt flesh just kicked in.

And anyone here knew exactly what could cause it.

"Courser shot," Drummer Boy answered, "and a lucky one too- for him anyways."

Desdemona stiffened at the response; despite her restrained expression, the color from her face fell a shade or two.

"Where? And when?"

"Just outside of Ticonderoga, probably an hour or two after you called," he answered once more, shifting his weight as he leaned more against the desk now; he could feel his right leg ready to give out. "If you uh... I need a map. I can show you where it was and where I lost it. I don't know if it got recalled or if it's still out there."

The woman was always on the forefront of getting information, of getting intel, but she didn't seem to so much as budge at his offer. Her eyes focused on his for a few seconds longer before they looked to the bloodied mess of his shoulder, which was mostly concealed by the torn remains of his jacket. "I called-" Desdemona started before the thought clicked, "you've had this injury for _two_ days?"

Drummer Boy would've matched her sharp tone with anger if he didn't know better.

"Yeah," he nodded, "and I'll be surprised if it doesn't kill me."

For a moment, the Railroad Alph seemed torn before she started back to where her collection of maps were stacked on top of each other. Drummer Boy made sure to follow after her- as best he could anyways as he used the desk and coffins along the way to help him keep balance. He made it to the circular table before Desdemona thrusted one of the maps in front of him.

It took him a few seconds to make sense of the lines and markings.

"Here," Drummer Boy started, pointing at the road leading out from Ticonderoga, just on the other side of the bridge. He watched as Desdemona picked up a nearby pen and made a mark where he indicated.

"Just tell me what you remember," Desdemona replied when he made a motion to take the pen- only to have her pull it back.

He probably wouldn't have been able to use it anyways.

"Alright, uh, the Courser showed up here to begin with and I managed to loop him through these houses along the coast," Drummer Boy continued, running his finger along the pathway. "He shot me through one of the windows here but I distracted him with a nesting Mirelurk. After that I took the tunnels here and managed to escape out by Haymarket Mall." He continued to drag his finger across the map before he tapped at the escape door- to which Desdemon placed another mark. "I... I blacked out somewhere here but I know I lost him on the Super Mutants here. I used shortcuts and secret trails from there on, backtracking a few times just in case, making sure I covered my steps. I lost the Courser yesterday and haven't seen him since- and by now he would've killed me so... I can only assume that it's safe to say he's gone."

"It's odd that there would be one so far out," Desdemona mused out loud, "and out there of all places."

"It was moving away from Ticonderoga so I don't think it had any suspicions but it's hard to say."

"Right... well regardless, I'll give High-Rise a heads up and tell him to keep a look out. Maybe get him to move his people around and vacate for a few days if I can." The woman sighed before she moved a hand to his back. "Come on, Carrington stepped out about an hour ago but he'll be back soon- and he's going to be pissed if he finds you still like this after two days."

"That's one way of putting it," Drummer Boy remarked.

The Railroad Alpha moved him to a nearby chair and set him down onto it with a helpful, but forceful push. And Drummer Boy had to admit that being off of his feet after two days of running didn't make him feel all that much better, not how he expected it too. It made him feel more like he was going to pass out. Sitting still made him focus on the churning feeling in his stomach and made him deal with the thoughts of vomiting again

"You're alright," Desdemona assured, her voice a stir-mix of soothing and firmness; it was more of a command than a comfort. She moved a hand to his cheek and then his forehead and even Drummer Boy had to wince at the uncomfortable difference between their skin. "Christ, you're burning up."

Desdemona worked to get the front of his jacket loosened and pulled open and Drummer Boy flinched in anticipation- knowing full and well that he wasn't going to like what she had to do next. Still he went with her coaxing and leaned forward as she helped to get his right arm out of the sleeve, which was enough of a struggle on its own. And once that was done he braced himself for the inevitable.

The woman was at least quick with the process as she yanked the jacket off of his left arm in one clean go.

Ripping the torn fabric right out of the burnt injury.

And it felt like the wound itself had been ripped open all over again.

Drummer Boy felt himself choke back something as he resisted the urge to grab at the wound. It shot pain all the way down to his fingertips- assuring him that at least he could still feel something in them, so they weren't completely gone. The pain pulled straight across his chest and he felt his body curl in slightly in response; he heard himself wheezing through sharp gasps as the pain was quick to settle in.

It only reminded him of just how bad of shape he was in.

"Sorry," Desdemona whispered, tossing his jacket aside before she cupped a hand on his good shoulder. "Sit back for me when you can."

He knew she was giving him time to recover but Drummer Boy took a few deep breaths and forced himself to sit back anyways. His back was throbbing something righteous and it was hard to sit still, but the anchoring hand on his shoulder offered some support. He looked away as she examined the wound, trying to breathe through his nose as the breaths came in in heavy jolts.

"He got you good, Drummer," she started, as she touched lightly at the nape of his neck. "The weather got you worse though."

"Yeah, it's uh- I don't know if you've been outside, Desdemona, but it's cold as fuck," Drummer Boy replied.

Desdemona offered a brief chuckle at his expense.

"I know it hurts but we've got one more to go."

Drummer Boy really didn't think he could manage but he gave her a nod to continue.

The Railroad Alpha grabbed the knife that was sticking halfway out of the book she used as weight for the maps and ripped it out. Keeping a firm grip on it, she carefully brought the knife to the collar of his undershirt and began to cut through the thin fabric. Starting at the collar, she cut down along the top seam of his left shoulder, cutting through the soaked material that had frozen over the day before.

It was hard to not notice the concentrated look on her face, the same one that broke into a slight grimace now and again.

Splitting the sleeve from the top in one go, she grabbed the cut material and yanked it down and away from the injury once more.

Drummer Boy felt himself gag this time.

Not so much from the pain but from the smell.

It was just burnt skin with burnt blood caked all over.

And he swore he caught the hint of something rotting.

He couldn't even bring himself to look at the injury in its raw state.

But he made a mistake of looking at Desdemona's expression instead.

Her lips were pressed tight and it seemed to be taking a lot of force for her to not say or show anything. Not outright at least. But the woman blindly set the knife aside on the desk next to them and moved a hand to his left bicep- careful with how she gripped it. And in all honestly, Drummer Boy could barely feel the woman's hand to begin with. But she squeezed gently and it was enough to give him a hint.

"I won't lie to you, this wound is not promising," Desdemona started, speaking in a low voice. "It's badly burnt and untreated; there's a mess of necrotic skin and tissue- not to mention frostbite. Carrington..." there was hesitation before the woman continued, "I believe he can fix it though; he's fixed you up from a Courser shot before."

"Barely," Drummer Boy replied as he brought his hand to cover his mouth and nose. "Jesus- fuck, I can't do this..."

"You're alright, you'll be alright."

* * *

Drummer Boy felt himself come to.

And it was one of those odd, surreal kinds of moments where he could feel himself waking up and yet had no recollection of having passed out in the first place. The last thing he remembered was talking to Desdemona and the smell of burnt flesh; he must've passed out some time after that- in which case he wouldn't be surprised. It wouldn't be the first time he had passed out in front of the Alpha.

Or just passed out in general.

It wasn't a good feeling but it usually meant he got to miss out on a few hours of agony.

His body felt heavy, weighed almost, and Drummer Boy made the mistake of moving the first chance the thought of doing so crossed his mind.

And almost immediately, it felt like a heat wave rushed through his body; he felt the heat start from his left shoulder and move throughout him, burning him from the inside, and locking his body in a painful constriction. His chest and neck felt tight, near paralyzed almost, making it feel as though he was trying to breathe with someone's hand around his throat.

It reminded him of being shot all over again.

The first few wheezes drew in nothing but dust which clotted the inside of his lungs before he finally managed to pull in air.

The deep-seated pain remained in his shoulder, turning his fingertips numb and making them unbearable to move- although he wasn't confident that he could still move them to begin with. But he could feel hot pain throbbing from each fingertip, winding itself tight down his palm and into his wrist.

"Careful with the arm, I just set it so _don't_ move it."

The order was barely heard over the consistent throbbing of his head and part of him felt rebellious enough to move his arm- or at least attempt to. But the sheer pain from it kept him from going through with the thinly-veiled idea of rebellion.

Drummer Boy gave himself a few more seconds to breathe, to calm down, letting the setting stiffness of his arm ease off. He must've been in the back corridor with the beds, probably shoved into the back corner to reduce the chance of people disturbing him. A slight con of having so many people in one area who needed a bed and a couple hours of sleep every now and again- but he liked the security of it.

"How in hell are you going through so much Med-X?"

The words came out as a grumble this time, letting Drummer Boy know for certain who it was, which saved him the trouble of having to open his eyes.

"Carrington."

The man's prodding fingers against his numb arm came to a pause at his rough voice.

"Well at least you're finally conscious," the doctor replied in his usual stiff tone, although a hint of relief could potentially be plucked from it. "You've been out for two full days- going on three. It's been peaceful at least and it was a lot easier to scrap off the burnt skin this time around."

Of course.

Because the good doctor himself had been the one who suffered the _most_ through that process.

"Good thing I was out then," Drummer Boy remarked, as he budged his good hand to move just enough to touch lightly at his face; his skin felt tight and itchy. "I take it Desdemona briefed you on what happened."

"Unfortunately yes- _don't_ touch your face, you're going to irritate the frostbite," Carrington chided. The doctor touched lightly at the wound of his left shoulder, which had been heavily bandaged at this point, making it difficult to feel much else asides from weight and pressure. "You seem to have a horrible knack for attracting Coursers."

"You're telling me," Drummer Boy sighed as he dropped his hand before he tried to move just enough to take the weight off of his lower back; it was throbbing firm and constant, echoing where the first Courser shot had hit him a few months before. He could feel Carrington's hand press some on his shoulder before it moved across his chest and pressed lightly on the nape of his neck. Drummer Boy didn't know what the doctor was looking for or maybe feeling for, but he took the hint that the man probably didn't want him moving to begin with. "So what's your prognosis?"

"You're a fucking idiot."

"You should really work on your bedside manners."

The doctor gave, at best, a heavy sigh and pulled his hand away. "Yes well, bedside manners or not, you're not going out into the field any time soon; you'll be out for a lot longer than you might think," Carrington continued. "It's going to take a long time for that arm to heal, not to mention with the various stages of frostbite you have, you can't afford to be exposed to the cold until it's completely healed."

"How bad was it?" Drummer Boy pressed.

"Almost second degree frostbite, mainly on your face and neck- not to mention your right hand on the fingertips," Carrington answered, as he began cleaning up whatever supplies he had brought over with him. "It took awhile to get you warmed up and you were blue for about a day, but you're in a better spot now at least. Your skin is starting to heal thankfully, but unfortunately for you, the blistering is setting in with it. I drained the pockets on your face for the time being, so be reminded that the skin is raw and sensitive- not to mention highly exposed to infection, so again, _don't_ touch it." The man seemed damned to bring that point across. "You've got lesser cases of frostbite down your left arm and across your chest, mostly from your soaked shirt, so try not to stress the skin there too much either. On the bright side, you're certainly not the worst case I've seen, but you easily could've been had you been out for another day."

That was a lot of information to take in.

But it wasn't the information that he was looking for.

"You know what I mean," Drummer Boy spoke.

"Just get some rest," the doctor replied instead, finished now with gathering his things. He got to his feet to leave. "I'll check up on you again in a few hours."

Carrington so very rarely avoided answering what might be his favorite question.

In fact, Carrington usually loved to tell people just what was wrong with them- medically or mentally. But right now, oddly, or perhaps scarily enough, Drummer Boy could hear the way that Carrington was avoiding the subject. The man was always straight and to the point; he hated wasting time and he hated dancing around questions or subjects. And yet, right now, the man seemed to be doing just that.

Sure, he was in shit condition and feeling about as good as he looked; he didn't figure that the prognosis was good.

But he deserved to know what it was regardless.

"You're killing me here, Carrington," Drummer Boy started, "just say it so we can both get this over with." There was a slim chance the doctor would actually listen to him; the man was as stubborn as a Brahmin sometimes. Carrington was already at the open doorway, ready to return to the main atrium of the catacombs. "If you leave this room, I will come after you."

"With the condition you're in, you can't even sit up," Carrington replied over his shoulder.

"Are you willing to chance it?"

The doctor stopped at the thin threat and gave a sigh, seemingly contemplating his choices over before he turned and retraced his steps.

It was a small victory.

"Half an inch," Carrington finally spoke. "Half an inch and you would've lost your entire arm from the start."

Alright, that much he had already sort of figured- hell Drummer Boy had to admit he was surprised that his arm was still functional to begin with. Although functional was a bit of a play here.

"The laser round just barely clipped your collarbone, which thankfully didn't fracture it," Carrington continued, "but it did a mess of nerve damage to your arm. You'll keep mobility and such, abet to some restriction, but expect to run into nerve pain and issues later on down the road." There was a pause before the man seemed inclined to go even further with his prognosis. "That's the mediocre news because there's really nothing good that I can tell you. The bad news is that the wound is a mess of dead skin from both the laser round and the frostbite; there's extensive tissue damage inside of it too and right now there's no telling how much of it can be repaired until the swelling goes down. So, by all accounts, there's still a strong possibility that you will lose the arm."

Now that was the answer he was looking for.

Well, not that particularly but... he supposed he could see why Carrington was reluctant to speak to him about it.

"Thanks, Carrington," Drummer Boy spoke.

"You're alive, focus on that," Carrington offered as he turned to leave once more before he stopped himself. "And Peyton, please... just get some rest."

* * *

He took Carrington's words to heart and dozed in and out of sleep for two more days.

The frequent influx of Med-X in his system and his overall exhaustion kept him from focusing on the stiff pain that countered the sleep. Overexertion made it easy for him to overlook the slightest discomfort as his body near begged for sleep at any free given minute. Drummer Boy was usually only awake long enough to prove that he was still alive and that was about it. Desdemona actually woke him up a few times to make sure he got water- although most attempts to get him to eat were usually turned down or ignored when he passed out again.

But once he had recovered the bare minimum, just enough to be able to move a little on his own and stay conscious for longer than ten minutes, it got more difficult to ignore the small things.

The mattress felt too hard, too flat to lie on; it only seemed to make the swelling of his fingers worse.

The heavy weight and tenderness of his shoulder and arm only made sleeping more difficult to do from there; the painkillers did enough to keep the agony tolerable at best but sometimes tolerable wasn't enough to keep him asleep. It didn't help that he could only sleep on his back to reduce the risk of moving his shoulder incorrectly and doing that for an extended period of time only made his lower back hurt just as much.

Despite Carrington's warning that he didn't have the strength to sit up, Drummer Boy did it anyways- mostly out of desperation for his back.

The stone wall behind him provided enough support to stay upright, and while still uncomfortable to an extent, it helped out with both his back and shoulder. Carrington didn't approve at first but Desdemona got him to back off after Drummer Boy insisted that it was actually less painful this way. Not to mention the upright position would help keep the blood from pooling into his shoulder, which in turn would help the swelling go down faster.

It was the small things that he had to go for and right now this was it.

He could sleep fairly decent sitting up, although he ended up sleeping more leaned into the corner- which ended up becoming the better position.

It kept the weight off of his shoulder and it kept him from tossing and turning throughout the night, eliminating the risk of jerking his shoulder incorrectly. It kept the weight off of his back and although the former wound still occasionally twitched with pain from time to time, he could ignore it for the most part. Better than he did lying down. Sitting upright made it easier for him to drink too, which was another plus.

The only issue was that some agents saw him sitting up and assumed he was conscious or well enough to be disturbed. And while he appreciated people checking in on him from time to time, he didn't so much appreciate being woken up every half hour.

Carrington eventually had to pull the doctor card and order that if someone walked in and saw him passed out in the corner, they were to leave him alone. Hell, unless told otherwise, no one was to disturb him at all.

But such was not always the case.

Drummer Boy woke to the feeling of someone lightly tapping their hand on the side of his face- repeatedly. He groaned and tried to turn away from it, only to feel the hand continue to follow after him. Carrington had treated the frostbite on his face and neck for the most part, although it was still in need of dire healing. He had luckily slept through the rewarming stages that had his skin blue and blistered, but now he was dealing with the aftermath of it. It was itchy and stiff, making it uncomfortable to turn his head from time to time. Hell, even the slightest catch of a breeze coming through the stone could make his skin pull tight- reminding him of how badly he wanted to scratch at it.

Carrington had drained the resulting blisters twice now, which took some of the discomfort out of it, only to leave his face and neck covered in raw patches of skin.

So no, he wasn't exactly thrilled with someone tapping their hand on his face.

"Hey, I heard about what happened, you feeling alright?"

"I was better until you woke me up," Drummer Boy muttered in return; he used his barely-good-anymore hand to rub the sleep from his eyes before he blinked to clear his vision and see who was speaking to him. Of course he already knew who it was by this point, and he wasn't surprised to see Glory leaning over in front of him. "Of course," he offered in an exhausted sigh.

The woman grinned at him in return. "Dez told me what happened and I got back as quick as I could- I needed to know how my favorite agent was doing."

Desdemona had made the decision to report the Courser in the area to any Heavy passing through and told them to spread the word; she made it clear however that his condition was not to be spoken about. Drummer Boy figured she didn't want fear to pass through the ranks and into the safe houses- although that point seemed moot considering that a Courser being reported in the Commonwealth was the bigger issue here.

Then again if it got back to the Institute that the Courser had shot someone and then the Institute found out that the person shot had been Railroad-related... than things would start getting complicated.

He didn't really care for whoever did or didn't know about his current condition; it just meant less visitors, which meant less distractions, which meant more sleep.

Drummer Boy chuckled lightly at Glory's remark before he gestured for her to sit with him, to which the woman accepted; she sat down on the edge of the mattress and made sure that she was facing him. "Horribly, if you're curious," Drummer Boy answered, as he tried to reposition himself to sit up straighter. It felt like the fingers on his left hand were permanently curled against his palm, like the tendons in his arm were pulled too tight and he couldn't release them.

"How's the shoulder?" Glory asked, and it was hard to deny the look of concern on her usual battle-hardened face. Glory hardly ever let her war face down, hardly ever let things get to her- well things not related to Synths anyways. She had her priorities in line and nothing could make her stray from that. But right now, she was straying just a little bit, for his sake at least.

And despite being in no mood to hold a conversation, or talk about what had happened, he hadn't seen the woman in almost a week's time it felt.

He couldn't let his favorite Heavy down.

"Hurts like a bitch and I can't move my arm or fingers all that much," Drummer Boy started. "Carrington said the nerves were basically fried from the laser round- said I was lucky it didn't blow the artery in half like it should've. There's an infection and some frostbite on it too which doesn't really help my case. It's not lethal by any means but..." his voice trailed after that and Drummer Boy wasn't entirely sure of where he wanted to go with it. He wasn't looking to spill all of what Carrington had said- after all, Glory had enough to worry about on her own. But the thought of it had yet to leave him. Sure, okay, so he loses the arm, it's not life-threatening; Meat lost her arm too and she was still kicking it in the Commonwealth with no issues.

He guessed in a way it felt like the former bullet wound in his back had crippled him enough and now there was this, which just felt like another nail in the coffin.

It was just exhaustion and pain talking though.

It was too early to throw in.

Glory moved a hand to his uninjured shoulder and squeezed it- a little too rough but that was just how Glory did things.

"You'll still be with us no matter what happens," she assured.

"Yeah, yeah, got too much information to be let go over," Drummer Boy humored, as if any one of them could just willingly leave the Railroad. Sure, it happened after Switchboard but... that was a different sort of running away/leaving things behind scenario.

"Well that and we can't afford to let go of that voice."

The sound of Glory's laugh at her own joke was enough to pull him in as well.

"Thanks for letting me know what your priorities are," he teased.

"Look, I'll keep an eye on things around here so don't you worry," Glory promised, as she patted him on the face once more. "Hell, between me and Charmer, I think we've got the Commonwealth down pretty pat."

"I have no doubts about that," Drummer Boy replied. Between Glory and her favorite minigun, there was hardly ever enough left over to stand up again. "Speaking about the Commonwealth though, what did Dez do about the Courser?"

The dark-skinned Synth gave a brief sigh in response. "I'm not surprised Dez didn't tell you," Glory remarked, which hinted that the answer was a bit of a long haul. "Long story short, a couple of us went out to investigate the matter, and as far as we can tell, the Courser was just in the area exploring. He must've got damaged or something in the crossfire with the Super Mutants and got called back in, or something to the likes. Dez called High-Rise and told him about the ordeal, so he's got his people out on high-alert. The weather's been pretty bad over there though and it's hindering them from going dark, so they're kind of stranded- but High-Rise is confident that they'll be fine. They've never had an issue before, as he likes to remind us. We called around to the other safe houses so they know and they're keeping their heads down for the time being."

Glory paused a moment and Drummer Boy felt her eyes settle on the bandaged portion of his shoulder, which was just barely covered by the loose jacket he had pulled over him. The corners of her lips twitched but she seemed to stave off saying something.

"It's not uncommon for the Institute to send Coursers out on errands though, so it's possible that it was just a fluke," she finished.

"A damn good fluke," Drummer Boy admitted with a sigh; he moved to brush his fingers through his hair, disliking the greasy feel to it, "or just my shitty luck."

"Probably both," Glory offered.

Probably.

"Glory, for the last time, I said not to disturb him!" a voice suddenly called from the main atrium of the catacombs.

The synthetic woman jumped at the warning.

"How the hell did he know I was in here?"

"Carrington has eyes everywhere," Drummer Boy reminded. "Now go, I'm sure you have more important things to do."

"If I do than I don't know them," Glory replied as she started to get to her feet. "Just hang in there, Drummer, we still need you around here."

* * *

It was five days in total before Drummer Boy woke to the sound of Charmer's footsteps coming down the stairwell.

He counted the steps like they were sheep as they echoed in the tight corridor.

Part of him was glad to have Charmer back, to know that he was fine above all else.

And the other part was nervous.

(Charmer didn't know about the Courser.)

Drummer Boy heard the steps pause at the top of the stairs and counted the seconds before the footsteps continued- abet at a slower pace now. Charmer must've realized the relative silence of the HQ now, realizing now that he wasn't there to greet him. A stark contrast to how the two met, to how the two got to this sort of relationship with one another. Had the situation been any different, they probably would've been teasing each other about the events at Ticonderoga on the staircase.

"Charmer, you're back, I'm glad," Desdemona started, breaking the quiet of the catacombs for the time being. "I take it business with the Minutemen is going well?"

Desdemona was hardly one for small talk so perhaps she was trying to edge over the news of the Courser in some way. Or perhaps she was trying to get some form of news from the outside world that didn't revolve around Coursers and the Institute. Or didn't revolve around speaking with the caravans who were proving themselves to be untrustworthy- thanks to Old Man Stockton's warning and paranoia.

"Yeah, it's real hectic out there- way too many feral ghouls running around and way too much snow to be fighting in," Charmer answered. "Not to mention dealing with settlement rations and herding around Brahmin. Also I fell in some tangled barbed wire that had been hidden by the snow so that was fun; I had to get Preston to help cut me out of it. The local kids did show me how to make a snowman though, so it wasn't all bad." There was a pause, a sympathetic chuckle over the bad news from Desdemona, before Charmer continued. "Uh, where's Drummer Boy? Did he go back to Ticonderoga?"

"No, Drummer's in the back hallway resting," Desdemona replied. "You're free to visit but don't let Carrington catch you in there if he's asleep."

As Glory had proven the day before.

Drummer Boy was still in a bit of a daze, just now coming off of sleep and another wave of painkillers and Med-X- and whatever else Carrington had put into him. Two days of massive blood loss, shock, hypothermia, and such was a shitty combination- and five days later he was really feeling the side effects of it. He had slept through the symptoms the first two days and then had blatantly ignored everything else for the following days, but now he was definitely getting his ass kicked by it.

Sleeping upright had helped with his arm before but now the pain of his back and hips were kicking in.

He found himself having to balance between keeping his arm comfortable or keeping his back from agonizing pain. And so far there didn't seem to be a way of fixing both of them at the same time so he had to resort to picking just one every time.

His arm was still numb and his fingers were still hard to move.

The clipping hit to the cluster of nerves under his shoulder was really starting to kick in and he was starting to feel it for sure.

Still, Drummer Boy tried to make himself seem halfway decent when Charmer walked in. He tried to make it seem like he hadn't been mostly asleep, maybe half dead for five days, buried under a mess of blankets and coats because Carrington pushed that he couldn't risk getting cold again; and by proxy, everyone willingly tossed their spare jackets on top of him.

It was a nice gesture and he was grateful for it, but it wasn't exactly the kind of scene he wanted to think back on later when everything was fine and well again.

Drummer Boy barely got any words out before Charmer had already thrown his things aside, luckily onto another mattress, and had knelt down beside him.

"I'm fine, it's fine," Drummer Boy assured, feeling the man's hands at his jaw before they moved to cradle his healing but still raw cheeks. "It's nothing serious."

A lie but also a conversation started.

"What happened? I didn't hear anything about this," Charmer whispered; the man's eyes were stuck on his face, no doubt roaming over the patches of healing frostbite that made him look more or less like a patchwork piece. It was enough to convince the man to pull his hands away, at least away from direct contact with his skin. "Weren't you always the one warning me about the cold?"

He almost wanted to save Charmer from finding out the real reason he was back here, but he knew that finding it out from someone else would only hurt the man more. "Well, it's kind of hard to report things when your communications guy is out," Drummer Boy replied, feeling the way Charmer's thumbs lightly brushed across his cheeks; he could still feel the wax-coating of frostbite on his face and it only reminded him of how dry and cracked his skin felt.

"But what happened?" Charmer pressed once again. "I mean, _Jesus_ , did someone hold your face in the snow for a whole day?"

Drummer Boy chuckled at the imagery. "I wish I could say that this is the worst of it," he remarked, as he reached up and brushed Charmer's hands away. When Charmer gave him a questioning look in response, Drummer Boy hesitated before he pulled down the jacket covering his left shoulder in answer. "Before you say anything," he started, catching words on Charmer's lips before he loosely covered the man's mouth with his semi-good hand, "it's fine. I can still move it and the pain's not too bad with it."

Another lie.

Although he could technically still move it, just not that much.

Charmer seemed too blindsided to say much, although he tried to stammer through a few unfinished sentences. "What did you- how did this- when? Who?"

This was the part he was dreading to answer to.

Drummer Boy dropped his hand and touched lightly at the bandaged wound. "When I left Ticonderoga the other day," he answered, simply enough at first- and yet it was still enough to get a reaction from Charmer. "I was following the same strip of road we had taken before and... happened to find a Courser in the same area. I hid in one of the houses and while I know it didn't see me, I think it still knew that I was out there somewhere. It fired off a warning shot and managed to clip me through a window." Hell, even just recounting the story seemed to make the twitching of damaged nerves hurt even more. "I spent nearly a day and a half running the Courser around and ended up spending two days packing snow on the wound to keep the heat down before I managed to get back here."

To say that Charmer was shocked or surprised was an understatement.

The man didn't say anything, or seemed unable to say anything, for several long seconds.

"Are you alright? Is there any pain? What can you feel?"

And then that combat medic part of him seemed to kick in.

"Charmer, it's alright; Carrington has it under control," Drummer Boy started.

"Can you just... humor me? Please?" Charmer spoke instead, almost pleading the request.

And it was the worried tone, the sense of concern...

He really couldn't resist Charmer.

"Yeah, there's a lot of pain with it and... I can sometimes move my hand but not all the time," Drummer Boy gave in, understanding that he was backpedaling over his opening statements. "There's a lot of nerve damage from what Carrington said but you know, I'm not out in the field a lot these days anyways- and it's not my dominant hand, so I'll be fine."

Charmer was hanging on to every word he said, even as his eyes dropped from time to time to the covered wound. "... Can I see it?"

Drummer Boy figured the question would come up and he told himself that he already had the answer mentally covered. "I'd rather you not-"

"I know my way around these kinds of things," Charmer insisted, "believe me, I've seen my fair share of bullet wounds."

"I know you do, Charmer, but... look Carrington has to change the bandages in a couple hours anyways, can you wait until then?" Drummer Boy offered instead. "It's not exactly the most pleasant experience and right now I'd rather not go through it more than I need to." It wasn't a lie. Getting the bandages cut off was the easy part, but the following examination and treatment usually made him sick, and then the re-bandaging wore him out. It felt like he was still getting his strength back from the same process from this morning.

The man looked dejected for only a split second before he covered it with a worried looking smile. "Yeah, of course I can wait," Charmer assured, reaching forward and brushing a few strands of hair from his face.

Despite Charmer's attempts at covering himself, it was all too easy to read the man's thoughts.

Or maybe Drummer Boy had just gotten too good at reading people's faces.

"Look, no one could've known that that Courser was going to be out there," Drummer Boy offered. "We had no reports, no warnings- although it's usually rare for us to get a heads up in most cases. PAM might've caught it but it would've been too late for anyone to make a call on it. It was a fluke."

"I know, but... I don't know," Charmer started and ended in frustration. The man cautiously moved a hand to his left bicep but wouldn't budge it further from there, choosing instead to let the touch linger.

Drummer Boy moved his good hand to cover Charmer's, gently squeezing it in his hold, before he watched as the man leaned in towards him. He felt Charmer's lips brush against his own, just enough to spare some warmth- just enough to make him realize how dry, chapped, and cracked his own lips were.

"You're freezing down here."

"It's the dead middle of winter," Drummer Boy reminded, "and we're stationed right under a graveyard. I don't know how much warmer we can be."

"It's January," Charmer argued.

"Yeah, well, the snow doesn't stop falling until March, sometimes April," he reminded.

Charmer gave out a groan and rolled his eyes.

Drummer Boy chuckled in response.

"I'm alright, Charmer. You don't have to worry."


End file.
